Lost
by Fleuramis
Summary: The Musketeers find themselves dealing with a traumatic and emotional situation when Aramis 'returns' from a visit to a relative.
1. Chapter 1

**LOST**

He felt movement, heard wheels underneath him. Faint sounds of people talking drifted in and out.

Where am I? he dazedly wondered? What am I in?, he continued, as the wheels moved over something that caused whatever he was in to jostle him violently against the side of whatever he was being transported in..

Then, all went black again.

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Before

It had been a quiet week so far. Just palace guard duty, boring but vital for the safety and stability of Louis' reign.

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan missed their fourth, especially during the evenings at the Wren. His lightheartedness. Jokes. Even his flirting.

Aramis had received permission to visit an elderly aunt he had never met. The woman had written Aramis a letter saying she wanted to see him before she died. She had even included a note begging his captain, Treville, to let him come, and Treville had given his permission, touched by the woman's words.

Aramis had left the next day. He was to be gone a week, a day and a half to get there and the same back, leaving him four days to cheer the elderly woman on her deathbed.

That had been four days ago, and they each silently looked forward to his rejoining them and hoping the remaining three days passed quickly.

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Present

He emerged from the blackness again to the same movements, the wheels underneath him.

How far were they going, he dazedly thought. Have we been traveling the whole time I was out, or was I only unconscious for a few minutes?

He wasn't conscious enough to know more. He couldn't see anything. It was too black wherever he was. His head was pounding, he thought right before it all went dark again.

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He was coming back today, Porthos thought, as he dressed and put on his weapons. A week to visit the distant elderly aunt, one whom he hadn't seen since he was a child.

He wondered how things had gone as he plopped his hat on his head and emerged from his room. Aramis was a charmer, he mused. Always had been. The lady probably was tickled pink with him as every age of woman seemed to be. Chuckling, he started down the stairs, part of his mind already fixed on what old Serge might be fixing for breakfast, his stomach rumbling at the possibilities.

As he came down the stairs, he glanced around the compound. No one else was up yet. More breakfast for me, he thought.

Reaching the bottom step of the wooden staircase he heard doors open, and knew from the direction that his brothers would be joining him in a moment. Nodding his head in their direction, he started across the compound towards the refectory, when an odd sight caused him to stop.

The garrison doors were wide open, which wasn't unusual for the morning, but what lay in-between them was.

He saw a long shape and what looked like a burlap bag in front, blocking any further view of the shape behind it. He headed for it out of curiosity to see what it was. Halfway there, he realized what the length and color of the object told him it was, and he moved faster, aware that Athos and d'Artagnan had also seen what he had seen.

As they neared the spot, Porthos, who was closer then Athos and d'Artagnan, finally got a clear view and his heart clenched within him as, even though the head was encased in the burlap bag, he recognized the body that was dearer to him than his own, and a strangled cry came from him-"Aramis!"

Athos and d'Artagnan, hearing him, speed up and dropped to their knees beside their brother, hardly believing their eyes at what they saw.

Aramis' body was literally completely covered in livid black and blue bruises and cuts of varying lengths.

Athos, closest to his brother's head, began trying to untie the burlap bag and free his brother's head. Porthos and d'Artagnan pulled their main gauches to liberate his wrists and ankles. Through it all, not a movement or sound came from the marksman, which only worried them more.

Athos, frustrated in his attempts to untie the bag, finally resorted to what he had rather not have done, whicuse his main gauche so close to Aramis' throat. Forcing himself to work more slowly than he would have liked, he carefully cut though the tie. When it had finally been severed, instead of pulling it quickly off his brother's head, he maneuvered it gently off.

As Aramis' head was revealed, a concerted hiss from all three of them sounded. Their brother's face was, if anything more bruised than his body, hardly an inch of skin left untouched. His eyes were both completely swollen shut. A massive bump was visible through his hair.

Glancing up at his brothers, he saw the same shock, confusion and worry he felt reflected in their eyes, as well.

What had happened to him? they all wondered. And why had the attackers brought him back to the garrison in this way? Had he been taken during his journey to his aunt's, or on his way back? Maybe he had surprised someone robbing his aunt? Or maybe whoever it was had been at his aunt's lying in wait?Who would do this? And why?

"We need to get him into the infirmary and get Dr. Lemay here as quickly as possible," Athos said, his voice barely above a whisper, shock still evident in his expression, as it was in all of them.

Porthos slid his arms gently under Aramis' shoulder and knees, lifting and carrying him across the courtyard as the now-emerging members of the garrison, heading for the refectory, stopped and stared.

Ignoring them, the Inseparables, their focus solely onn their brother, continued on to the infirmary with their precious burden, stopping long enough for Athos to issue a terse order to one of the men to go to the palace and bring Lemay back. "Do not come back without him," he added.

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They set about getting Aramis laid down in a bed, getting water, soft cloths, alcohol for Dr. Lemay.

The good doctor arrived a little later, greatly dismayed when he saw the state Aramis was in.

"What happened to him?" he asked.

"We wish we knew," Athos replied.

Lemay cleaned and anointed the myriads of cuts and bruises with salves, covering them with bandages with the Musketeers' assistance.

"You need to keep a close eye on him", Lemay continued. "The bodily bruising and cuts, while being very painful and probably for some time, should heal barring the onset of any infections. The head, however Is a different story. The bump may cause further unconsciousness, and no way to know for how long. The eyes …" he trailed off for a moment before he continued. "Make sure he gets plenty of rest after he wakes up. It will soothe the swelling."

Gathering his bag and jacket, he told them, "Let me know how he is when he awakens. I've left some medications for pain if you can give them to him when awakens. Good day, gentlemen." Taking one more glance at the still silent unmoving marksman, he shook his head slightly as d'Artagnan saw him out.

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Aramis finally slept showed signs of regaining consciousness late the next day. His brothers, none of whom wanted to be anywhere else but with him, eagerly awaiting his waking. The only way they could tell would be bodily movements or facial expressions with the eyelids still swollen shut.

They saw him begin to shift slightly on the bed, and rapidly grimace at the pain it caused him.

Athos, on his left, said softly, "Stay still, Aramis. You are injured and…." his hand, which had been coming to rest on Aramis' shoulder stopping as Aramis flinched from his touch, then froze.

"It's all right, Aramis," Porthos reassured him. "We are here for you," looking up in confusion as Aramis responded to his words as he had to Athos-in fear.

His voice when he spoke, was dry and raspy. "Where am I?" swiveling his head in either direction that the voices had come from.

Athos responded, "You are in the garrison infirmary, Aramis."

But these words seemed to confuse him. "A garrison? Why am I here? You are soldiers?"

The more he spoke, the questions he was asking, the more his brothers worry levels shot up.

"Yes, we are, as are you, Aramis. One of the best," Athos continued, responding in a quiet calm voice.

"That is my name? Aramis? Who are you?" His voice sounded so lost.

"We are Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, Aramis, and we care very much about you."

Aramis was shaking his head now. "I don't understand."

The confusion, the doubt and the fear tore at their hearts. Did he not recognize his brothers' voices? What had happened to him to cause this?

"Porthos tried again laying just his fingers lightly on his brother's forearm, but Aramis tried to scramble backwards away from him, begging, "Please don't hurt me again."

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_**I know I've had Aramis lose his memory in another of my stories. This time, it is for longer, and in the second or third chapter (haven't decided yet), his brothers find out that isn't the only trauma they will be dealing with. If you have the time or the inclinations, reviews are always gratefully welcomed. When I finally figure out how to respond to reviewers comments, as some other writers do, I will enjoy doing so.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Sorry this is again a rather short chapter. I have had an extremely busy week. Hopefully, next week's will be longer. **_

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, still trying to come to grips with this new fear he had of them, worked as gently as possible to move him away from the wall and back to a prone position on his bed, all the while talking to him.

"You're all right, Aramis," Porthos told him quietly. "We're your friends."

"Aramis, just rest," Athos said, his tone continuing the same soothing quiet tone as Porthos had used. "Let your body heal. We are as confused by all that has happened as you are. We will get to the bottom of it, I promise you. You are safe here, brother."

They could feel the trembling in his body ease up gradually as they spoke. They could tell he was still confused by the expression on his face, but the words they had spoken seemed to calm his fears, and gradually his eyes dropped, finally succumbing to sleep.

Moving quietly away from the bed, Porthos growled, "I want to get my hands on whoever did this, and tear them apart. They…."

Athos held a hand up, then laid it softly on Porthos' shoulder, "We will, Porthos. Believe me, we will. They will rue their actions. But we have to be careful when we are in the same room. We do not want him to hear any harshness or anger right now."

Nodding his head, Porthos agreed. They settled down at a table in the far corner, wondering how to bring their brother's thoughts back to knowledge of their relationship.

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Having taken turns sitting with Aramis through the night, when morning dawned, they hoped that the day might also bring with it some sign of the return of their brother's memory.

They noticed that the swelling in his eyelids was finally starting to going down, and hoped that when he could see their faces, pauldrons, the garrison, it would begin to remember. It couldn't come soon enough for them, but they wouldn't attempt to rush or force it.

D'Artagnan, having gone to the refectory to get some breakfast for them, and had run into Treville on his return. The Captain had been out of Paris for a week, and d'Artagnan had just told him that Aramis was injured and in the infirmary.

Walking in the infirmary door, he began to say, "What in the world has been….", only for Athos to shake his head, indicating the back of the infirmary, where Porthos was already moving to Aramis' side as he awoke at the sound of the raised voice.

In a considerably quieter tone of voice as he watched Porthos calm his brother down, Treville looked pointedly at Athos, and demanded quietly, "How did this happen, and what are his injuries?"

Athos filled him in on his condition, but couldn't tell him much about how or where it had happened or who had done it.

Treville shook his head, saying, "Why does this happen so much to him? He is one of the kindest men I have ever known. I have to catch up with my paperwork, as Louis needs something buried in it. Keep me informed of how he is doing," turning and leaving as he spoke.

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Aramis gradually came back to awareness again, laying still as thoughts ran through his head.

Why can't I remember who I am?, he thought. Nothing sounds familiar. I can tell these men care very much for me. I can hear it in their voices, in the gentleness they show towards me. Why can't I remember them?

He could feel the panic rising again in him. It had been almost a constant companion to him since he had first regained consciousness.

He felt like… like no one. He had no name, no identity. Aramis. The name these men had told him was his. A name others knew, but he, whose name it was, did not.

He didn't know what had happened to him. Had he had an accident? Or had someone attacked him? And if they had, why? What might he have done to cause it?

Was he a good man? Or might he have done something to deserve it? He just didn't know.

From the brief times he had spoken to …. Ath. He stopped, concentrating on remembering the names they had given to him. Athos. That was it! And Porthos. D'Artagnan.

How very much they sounded like they cared for him. And how much he was hurting them by his blank memory.

He stopped as pain lanced through his body. He wished he could at least see. Maybe something…someone would look familiar. His frustration grew, along with a building headache.

He was a Musketeer? Did he wear a uniform? He wished he knew. They had told him how good a soldier he was. How long had he been one?

Where was this garrison located? In a large city? Out in the country? Near the sea? It frightened him how there was nothing in his mind about himself. How would he ever find out?

Then, another thought occurred to him. If someone had done this to him, if it hadn't been an accident, would they come back? He was in no condition to defend himself. He had no idea how good he was at fighting, but he must be a fair fighter if he was a soldier.

But the thought which followed comforted him somewhat. These men who called themselves his friends. They would protect him, would they not?

With that thought, he gave in to the encroaching weariness and fell asleep again, oddly comforted by three men he didn't remember.

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Next morning, as d'Artagnan was sitting with Aramis while he slept, he noticed something diffferent. The swelling Aramis' eyelids was almost gone!

Excited, he motioned to Athos and Porthos, who had risen at dawn, pointing out what he saw. He could see the hope fill their faces. Just maybe, Aramis would soon have another way to bring back his memory.

Porthos, seeing that Aramis' didn't give any sign of waking yet, went out to get their breakfast from Serge, while Athos and d'Artagnan stayed with their sleeping brother.

Hours later, Aramis still hadn't awakened. Porthos sat next to the bed, his eyes never leaving his brother, as if keeping his hopeful eyes on him could wake him up.

D'Artagnan sat in a corner, his head down, head down and eyes clasped together between his knees. Waiting wasn't his specialty either.

Athos was at the table, reading a book, his eyes every few minutes rising to glance at his brother's face. Athos was not, as a rule, an impatient man. But he, like the others, was so looking forward to a possibility of Aramis' recognizing them at last.

At the middle of a bright sunny day, Aramis began to stir. All three of his brothers gathered around. His eyes were twitching, trying to open after days of bring sealed shut. Finally, they blinked a couple of times and opened.

But what happened next was something from their worst dreams. Face scrunching up in a look of intense confusion, Aramis said in a plaintive, whispered voice, "Did I sleep for so long? Why...aren't the candles…lit? I can't see anything." 


	3. Chapter 3

To say his brothers were shocked by Aramis' words would be an understatement. They literally were frozen by what they had heard.

It took them several moments to attempt to recover. Then, Athos bent over his brother, taking his hand gently to reassure him. He could feel how fast his pulse was at his wrist. "It is all right, Aramis. Rest now."

But Aramis, a hitch in his voice, asked plaintively, "Why? I don't understand. Why can't I see?"

"We do not know yet, Aramis. We will send for Dr. Lemay. We will get to the bottom of this."

He watched as Aramis' eyes flitted from one side to the other. His face reflected confusion and frenzy as he attempted to see anything besides the inky void of blackness. The more he tried and failed, the more agitated he got.

Porthos, his heart breaking as all of them's hearts were, gathered his brother into his arms, ignoring his flailing arms attempting to get away.

"Whoa, whoa, Aramis. Easy there. Calm down," he said in a soft, calm voice. Aramis continued to struggle, but began to calm as he listened to the gentle, concerned voices of the men who cared for him so much, even though he had no idea who they were.

At last he fell asleep, his head resting against Porthos' massive chest.

Porthos held him a few more moments to make sure he was sleeping soundly, then deposited him gently back in bed, pulling the blanket up around him.

Without a word, all three brothers moved to the far side of the infirmary, pulling out chairs and seating themselves around a small table there. For a few moments silence reigned, the brothers nearly as upset as Aramis at this newest trauma.

"Didn't he have enough to deal with having his memory gone?" Porthos angrily growled. "Then this. It's gonna tear him apart," slamming his fist down on the table.

Athos caught his hand as it raised again, saying, "We have gone over this before, Porthos. We all feel as you do. But, as I have said before. Be careful. We do not want to wake him to the sounds of violence. We can tell from the damage to his head and body that someone was very cruel and brutal to him."

"I understand how you feel, though, Porthos, " d'Artagnan said. "It would feel really good right now to just hammer something. I've never felt so helpless to resolve something in my life. It's so unfair. All the evil villains we deal with, and this happens to the kindest-hearted man I've ever known."

Athos, listening in silence to d'Artagnan's impassioned words, said, "We have to control our feelings around him in order to help him through this. We will ask Dr. Lemay if he believes either the memory loss or blindness may go away on their own, and if there are ways to help him deal with it if … not," not even wanting to say the dreaded negative word.

At that moment, Treville came in, and they filled him in on what had happened. It wasn't often that the Captain was rendered speechless, but these successive revelations were enough to cause a momentary absence of words. Then, he asked, "I assume you sent for Lemay?"

"We did," Athos responded. "Let us hope he can tell us the blindness has a chance of reversing, that the memory recovery will not be impeded by the loss of his sight."

"One can only hope," Treville replied. "I do not need to tell you that you are relieved of all other duties in order to care for your brother, until such time as he recovers his memory and eyesight-or it is deemed by the good doctor that it has ceased to be a possibility," the words shocking them.

Treville knew he was being brutally honest, but he needed his men to be prepared beforehand for that possible eventuality. He silently hoped that the second possibility would never come to be.

Since the first days of his Musketeer regiment, he had regarded his first recruit almost as a much-loved son. It would hurt him to the core of his being to see the marksman permanently in this state.

He sat with Aramis for a while, holding his hand much as the others had done.

He remembered back when he and Aramis were getting to know each other. He saw the dedication, as well as a streak of occasional recklessness. He was loyal, honorable, and had a wonderful sense of humor. He was brave and fearless in battle, yet gentle and more than a bit of a mother hen as a medic. He would lay down his life in a heartbeat for the brothers he loved so much.

'What happened to you, Aramis', he asked silently. 'Come back to us, son', he silently prayed.

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Earlier

Aramis had awakened, but lay still, slow to process where he was. This had happened most of the times he had awakened since he had regained consciousness. He gradually remembered that he was at the Musketeer garrison. He could hear whispered voices and subdued movements across the room, so he was not alone. How kind these men seemed to be!

He kept hoping that his eyes could open. His hand slowly reached up to his eyes. There! The swelling had gone down!

Excited, he took a deep breath, then clutching the blanket over him in both nervousness hopefulness, he began to open his eyelids.

And…..nothing! It was as black as ever! No light. He could hear movement next to him, but he could see no one.

He asked them why he couldn't see. That he didn't understand.

He could feel the gentleness of someone's touch on his hand as they grasped it, but when Athos said they didn't know, he began to panic. He could feel his breathing quicken, and his heart begin to pound. Scared, he flailed his arms and legs, his head turning first one direction, then another. But there was blackness everywhere.

It was then that strong arms wrapped themselves around him, lifting him against a large chest that smelled of leather. A soft, deep voice was then telling him to take it easy and be calm. Even though had no memories of these men, and was unable to even see what they looked like, he found it easy to trust them, and like them.

Feeling somehow safe and loved, he bit by bit relaxed, his muscles relaxing, his heart rate no longer pounding, and then felt himself sinking into sleep.

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When he next awoke, he heard now-familiar voices, but then he heard a new voice, a stranger. Tensing up, he then felt warm hands take one each of his hands, hoping it would relax him.

"Aramis, this is Dr. Lemay, personal physician to the royal family. He has been away, but now he can see what he can do for you," Athos explained to a still slightly drowsy Aramis.

Aramis stared sightlessly up in the direction of Athos' voice.

Dr. Lemay's heart went out to the lost and confused young man laying before him. He knew Aramis and greatly admired his self-taught medical skills, his compassion and great desire to heal the sick and wounded he came in contact with.

His brothers had briefly filled him in on the little they knew of what happened. Lemay had told him he only had mostly textbook knowledge of amnesia and blindness to go on: that, and a suddenly fierce desire to heal this good man who didn't deserve any of what had happened to him. This mild-mannered man was suddenly filled with an unusual animosity towards whoever had perpetrated this.

He first dealt with the numerous cuts and burns to Aramis' body. Painful as they were, he could at least tell his brothers that they would be painful a while longer but would heal nicely. There was thankfully no infection present in any of the injuries.

He then moved on to his eyes. He tested them, and as much as he had hoped otherwise, could find not the slightest reaction to light or movement. Sighing deeply, he shook his head towards Aramis' brothers, desperate for any glimmer of hope otherwise. He could see their faces fall at his confirmation of fullness of his blindness.

He added, "When the fading bruises and still-slight puffiness around his eyes finally heal, his sight may," he could seeing the dawning hope in their eyes," I repeat May regain his sight. It all depends on the inner damage, and if it heals, as well. We have no way of knowing for sure, though, other than waiting and praying."

As to the memory, Dr. Lemay suggested trying to find any and all sensory clues they could think of: a horse he loved, a tavern he enjoyed frequenting, other friends he had. Reading from a book he enjoyed. Sharing missions they had gone on. People he had healed, including themselves. Even time spent with the royal family, to which Athos silently cringed, being the only one present who knew of the time spent with the Queen. Any of these, plus their own constant presence might trigger a reaction that could bring his memory back. "Or", he said, feeling he needed to be brutally honest in order not to give possible false hope, "their is the possibility that it is permanent. We just do not know anything for sure."


	4. Chapter 4

Aramis lay silently, listening to the doctor's words.

He heard Lemay tell these men who called him brother that his eyesight might come back, and his heart leaped. If he could see what was around him, all kinds of things might help him recover his sight!

But then, Lemay's next words threw a bucket of cold water over his hopeful thoughts. 'We have no way of knowing for sure, though, other than waiting and praying.' In other words, the physician didn't really know enough to say one way or another, he thought, as his hopes were dashed yet again.

His hopes further deteriorated as he continued to listen to the doctor's advice about his memory. Maybe's were all he was left with at remembering who he once was.

The more he was around these kind men who were taking care of him, the more he ardently wished to remember them, and the bond of friendship he had once shared with them. But if he relied on the doctor's pronouncements, his chances seemed to be just as good to end up with no sight or memory as they were that he would recover them.

'I can't live like this', he told himself. 'This isn't life. It's just existing with no future.' He stopped as two hands gently took one each of his, squeezing them, while a third hand was laid on his shoulder, to show that these men who called him brother could tell the path his mind was taking.

He wasn't alone as he faced his uncertain future, he realized. These men would walk with him no matter where that road led.

He took a deep shaky breath as he slightly squeezed back. 'I'm going to fight this', he vowed to himself. I can't let them down.'

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan let out the breath they had almost unknowingly been holding, slight smiles replacing the worry lines on their brows. Aramis' spirit is still present. The strength. The hope. The fearless bravery. He would fight this battle and win, and they would be close beside him every step of the way.

Lemay left some medicines for pain and instructions for times and dosage before leaving. He told Aramis to "fight, like I know you can. If anyone can beat this, it will be you", patting the marksman lightly on the shoulder.

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For the next few days, Aramis concentrated on getting stronger, so that he might try to rediscover his lost past. He ate, drank and slept when his brothers advised it, taking whatever medicines they gave him without question.

Every time he did these things, though, unbeknownst to him, he showed his brothers how unlike their normal Aramis he was.

Their brother would have continually been fighting against such long bed rest, and would definitely have tried to sneak out of the room by now. He would have told them, repeatedly, that he didn't need the medicines, even though, if the situation was reversed and he was the one taking care of them, he would strictly enforce the bed rest and medicine over their protests.

But they hid their sadness and put on determined smiles whenever they were beside him. Even though he couldn't see the smiles, they helped each other stay hopeful and confident.

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One morning, Aramis awoke, and Athos told him his breakfast would be there in a few minutes, adding, afterwards, would you like to try getting up?"

Aramis couldn't help it, he nodded eagerly, a smile lighting up his face. "Can I?"

Porthos replied, "Of course you can!"

Athos added, "And maybe tomorrow, if you're careful, we can go outside for a short time."

Aramis was excited at this news. He looked forward to the day with an almost childlike joy.

His brothers shared in his happiness, hoping against hope that a breakthrough might be closer.

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After eating all of his breakfast, he said eagerly, "Now?"

A chuckle came from Porthos, as Athos answered, "Yes, Aramis. Now."

He felt strong arms assist him as he swing his legs over the side of the bed. When he was sitting up, his head spun a little, the result of being prone for so long. He started to push his way up further, but Athos laid a hand on softly on his shoulder, saying, "Take this slowly, Aramis. Besides, you would rather have some clothes on before rising, would you not," Aramis eliciting another chuckle from Porthos when he he slowly turned red in embarrassment of being clad only in his braies.

It was a slow process for them to get him dressed, even in just breeches and shirt. Aramis wanted to do it himself, but after a couple of tries, resigned himself to their assistance, not only not being familiar with the shirt and breeches, but his fingers fumbling with the buttons. They decided to leave his boots off until the next day. He wouldn't need them in his first simple attempts to walk about the room.

When he was attired, he once more tried to stand, pushing himself up off the bed with both hands. Athos and Porthos kept hold of his arms, d'Artagnan behind him in case he faltered.

Once he was on his feet, his world spun violently around, and he was appreciative of his brothers' firm support. After a few moments, it lessened and he tentatively took his first step. He felt the wooden floor under his bare feet, as he set his foot down.

It took a while for his wobbly legs to firm up and support him, but they took it slow. Aramis wanted to keep going, so they slowly made several circuits of the large infirmary slowly.

Athos, seeing Aramis tiring, though he vehemently denied it, finally called a halt over his brother's protests.

Walking with him back to his bed, d'Artagnan plumped extra pillows behind him so he could sit up comfortably. The smile they saw on his face made their day.

"Tomorrow, we will try taking you outdoors, Aramis. Would you like that?" Athos asked, knowing the answer before he even asked.

Seeing the eagerness on his brother's face, he said, "I'm sure the other Musketeers would love to see you again, too."

Aramis' face suddenly fell. Porthos, seeing this said, "We've told them you don't remember anything yet, Aramis. They are still eager to see you."

"You are well-liked, you know," d'Artagnan reassured him, punching him lightly in the arm. "Not as well as with the ladies, but …."

Aramis blushed at the words and the way they were said, something he never would have done at a comment like that. They hadn't mentioned any relationships he might have had yet. Hearing that 'the ladies' liked him, made him curious, too. A question for later.

"The men are going to be very pleased to see you, Aramis," Athos told him. "You will see."

Aramis was nervous about the prospect of being with yet more people he didn't know, but with these men at his side, he could face the prospect.

He was really looking forward to going outside. The sunshine on his face. Freedom from an enclosed area for so long.

Maybe clues to his identity loss awaited him outside this room. He wouldn't get his hopes up too high, but anything new could have possibilities that could break the invisible barrier to the memories he longed to have back.

Later, when Aramis had fallen asleep, his brothers discussed their outing for the next day.

"Dr. Lemay said introduce Aramis to any people or things he knew well. We know how much he loves his horse. He's forever buying apples and carrots, and gets nuzzled as soon he comes near because she's looking for them," d'Artagnan suggested.

"And maybe he'll remember the men," Porthos added. "I can't go out the door without one of them asking how he is, and when they can see him."

Athos was still cautioning them. "We cannot get too excited that something will happen right away. If it does not, it could throw Aramis back into depression. We just need to be patient, and it will return," he told them, hoping with all his heart that it would happen that way.


	5. Chapter 5

When Aramis next awoke, he wondered if it was morning yet. He had no way of knowing, as all he experienced was a black void. No sunlight, moonlight. No morning, no evening, no night.

He wondered how he just instinctively knew of the times of the day, the sun, blue sky and clouds, the moon and stars in a dark sky. He knew there were trees, flowers, grass, snow. Animals, singing birds. But not his brothers. Not any of his life. Why?

He sensed someone near him, and smiled. These men were so protective of him. One of them was always near him. They must rotate with each other. It made him feel incredibly safe.

As he stifled the yawn rising up, Porthos said softly, "Good morning, mon ami. Good sleep?"

"You are truly my friends, aren't you?" he asked in wonder, still not understanding why he was so blessed with these three men and praying for to remember them.

He must have spoken the last words aloud, as well, as Porthos replied, "Well, there is something you haven't forgotten."

Looking at him in confusion, Aramis asked, "I don't know what you mean."

"Aramis, you have a very strong faith. What you just said to me shows you haven't forgotten it."

Was there actually something he still retained, Aramis thought. It was a start. Maybe, just maybe, more would come. It had to. He couldn't live the rest of his life like this. He couldn't expect these men to take care of a blind man with a blank past for the rest of his life. It wasn't right.

His hand reached up and he began running his fingers distractedly through his hair from front to back. Unknowingly, he was doing something very well-known to his brothers, something he often did when he was upset about something.

"Aramis, we won't give up until you remember everything," Athos told him. Having seen Aramis' familiar gesture when he had awakened, and recognizing what it meant immediately, he had quietly joined them, reaching his hand around to clasp the back of his brother's neck to comfort him.

"It will probably not happen in a day, maybe not even in a week or two, but it will happen. None of us will settle for less," he said, squeezing his hand gently to emphasize his words.

Aramis nodded, emotions overcoming him. After a moment, he drew in a deep breath and said, "We are still going outside today?"

"Yes. We can try going to our table for breakfast to start with. Would you like that?"

Seeing the eagerness now spreading across Aramis' face, Athos smiled, but cautioned, "We will keep the pace slow. If you tire, please say so. It would not do to have a setback now."

The eagerness never wavered. Aramis couldn't wait to go outside. Even slowly.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan all assisted Aramis into his clothes, including his boots. He finally thought he must be ready and started to stand. Athos laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "Not so fast. You need your doublet and hat, as we also do. It is rather windy today and there is a chill to the air, so we are all making sure we are warm outside," saying the last to waylay any ideas Aramis might have that they were coddling him.

They were ready at last, and Aramis slowly stood with Athos and d'Artagnan's assistance. Making their way slowly to the door, they then proceeded outside, Athos taking his left arm, d'Artagnan his right. Porthos led the way, making sure nothing was in the way to trip him up.

Aramis immediately felt the strong, cold wind on his skin, lifting his face right into it. His hands, exploring, reached out to touch the rough wood of a railing they were walking next to. A bird was chirping on the roof on the building, and he stopped to listen,curious about everything.

He heard the sounds of metal against metal, turning his head in the direction it came from, not knowing what it was.

Porthos explained, "Some of the men are sparring with rapiers, Aramis. Veterans are training new cadets

"Can we we go over there?" he asked.

"Maybe after breakfast," Athos replied to his question, leading the way to their table. He glanced over at his brothers, the three of them wondering if they were going to be hit by a storm, and how long they should keep their inquisitive brother in the cold.

A short while later, Serge brought out what seemed like a feast for breakfast. Patting Aramis on the shoulder, his fondness for the marksman obvious, he then proceeded to make several trips back and forth from his kitchen to place porridge, bacon, bread and jam in the center of the table, and a pastry filled with fruit and cream was put in front of Aramis. The other three just looked at each other, amused, while Aramis wondered why he was the only one to get such a mouth-watering treat.

Porthos leaned over and said, "You've always been old Serge's favorite, Aramis. That's just the way it is with him. If you don't like it, remember I'm right next to you and starving!" causing great merriment from Athos and d'Artagnan.

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During breakfast, several of the men came over individually, wanting to greet Aramis. Treville had warned the men at muster that if they saw him,they weren't to all come to him at once, which would overwhelm him.

As they each spoke with him, his brothers hoped something might click, but reasoned that since the men he knew best-themselves-hadn't jogged his mind, chances were good that the rest of the regiment wouldn't either.

And they were correct.

They could tell that Aramis was nervous at the prospect of meeting people he didn't know, but he was calm while each man spoke with him. Each man was eager to speak with the marksman, as he had always been popular in the regiment with his easy, friendly manner, helpfulness and humor. They could see, though, that none of them seemed familiar to him.

D'Artagnan leaned over afterwards and said, "It's all right, Aramis. We will keep trying."

After breakfast, they took Aramis over to where some of the men had been sparring, but they had finished. Guns and target practice had replaced the rapiers of earlier in the morning. Aramis listened intently to the sounds, and to the others' description of what was happening.

Athos told him, "You have always been, by far, the best marksman in the regiment. Not only the regiment I would say, but possibly in France." /div  
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Aramis could hear the sincerity with which he spoke the words, and was stunned. He was considered that good? From the somewhat short amount of time he had been around these men, he noticed that Athos didn't seem the type of man to use empty compliments and flattery, so he knew the man meant every word he had said. How could he not know so much about himself, he asked silently yet another time.

Seeing that the men's practice time wasn't telling Aramis anything, Porthos suggested, "Would you like to go meet Fidget, mon ami? It's only a few steps away. We need to get inside anyway. It's getting colder. I think we're in for some bad weather very soon."

Turning his head in Porthos' direction, Aramis asked him, "What is a fidget?"

Porthos threw his head back and laughed. "Fidget is your horse. The one you spoil rotten. That horse knows you always have an apple or carrot in one of your pockets. It's why she nuzzles you all the time."/div  
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D'Artagnan chimed in. "To be fair, though, Fidget loves you. Even if there were nothing in your pockets, she likes how you stroke her neck and speak softly to her. Most of the men don't do much of that for their mounts."

"It could explain why she comes straight back to the garrison if you two are separated for some reason. It has saved your life a couple of times, because we took off after you when we saw her, and discovered you had run into trouble. One time, she even led us a day's ride back to where you had taken a bad fall down a slippery slope during a fight against bandits."

They had been heading for the stables as they talked, and Aramis could smell the distinctive odors of a stable as they entered a building. He heard a soft whicker, and d'Artagnan said, "See, she recognizes you."

As they came to her stall, Porthos guided Aramis' hand to her neck,and he began stroking it. The sound that came from Fidget told them all how much she loved it.

D'Artagnan nudged Aramis, and slipped something into his hand.

"It's an apple," explained the Gascon. "Put it in the palm of your hand. She will do the rest."

He barely had reached his hand out, before Fidget nudged it, before taking the fruit from his hand. Aramis went back to stroking her neck, a sense of peace warming him. He didn't remember Fidget, but enjoyed being with her.

These kind men, and now this horse. He could see, from the time spent today, that he had a life well worth living, people who loved and respected him. A horse who missed him. Why was his memory such a difficult thing for him to bring back?

He wanted it so much. His brothers yearned for it. The men who had spoken to him wished for it. Even an animal showed him it's affection. Yet still it remained elusive, teasing him yet remaining hidden.

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The day had steadily grown colder, the wind reaching even under the tops of their doublets, chilling them. It was when they were returning to the infirmary that the snow began, the snowflakes brushing Aramis' face as they fell.

He shivered, a sudden sense of unease enveloping him. The others saw it and hurried him inside. He was chilled to the bone.

They got him undressed and into bed, piling blankets over him. He fell asleep almost immediately.

In the middle of the night, he began to move restlessly, mumbling something Porthos didn't catch where he sat beside him. Then he sat bolt upright in his bed.

In an anguished voice he cried out, as his brothers gathered around him with worried faces, "Why did they die, and not me?

They looked up at each other, worry clouding their faces. Savoy! This was not the path any of them would wish for as he searched for his missing identity.


	6. Chapter 6

"Marsac!" he almost screamed the name.

Porthos hurriedly grabbed his brother, cradling him in his arms.

They had heard the whole of what had happened in the Savoy massacre from Aramis himself, months after the incident itself. For a long time directly after it, Aramis was almost nothing like the confident, even almost-cocky man they had grown to love.

He suffered from horrendous, frequent nightmares for a long time afterward, calling out as he just had done. He had barely eaten unless coaxed, and then he would consume very little.

He had blamed himself for the massacre, saying since he had been in charge, he should have had constant guards despite the fact that it had just been a training exercise.

He had gradually returned to normal, with his new-found brothers' constant companionship to help him.

The nightmares seldom came any more, five years later, allowing him to have restful nights once again. Now, of all times, was the very worst time for one to once more inflict itself on him.

Athos sat on one side of his bed, d'Artagnan occupied the other. D'Artagnan had not yet met them when Savoy happened, but he had heard about it, his heart going out to his now very much-loved brother.

Porthos had been slowly rocking his traumatized brother, slowly calming him down.

At long last, Aramis quieted, and moments afterward, exhausted brown eyes blinked open. Unseeing, he reached a hand out, groping. Athos grabbed it quickly, realizing his brother needed to feel the warmth of touch to ground him.

'He may not remember who he is,' Athos thought, 'but his instincts are still true.' He still needs touch to ground him. He took comfort in that thought, hoping it would bring him back when nothing else so far had.

After a few minutes, Aramis hesitantly asked, "What … what is Savoy?"

His brothers looked silently at each other over his bowed head. Sighing, Athos realized it would fall to him to be the one to explain. How he wished he didn't have the burden.

"Aramis, Savoy happened five years ago. You were appointed by the Captain to lead a training mission to Savoy. You were attacked in the middle of the night, when most of the men were asleep." He hesitated before going on. "You were the only man who survived. Somehow you stayed alive in the cold and snow of the forest even though you had been badly wounded, until our search party found you and brought you home."

There was utter silence when he finished. What must their brother be thinking of what he had just heard? They couldn't help hoping that since the nightmare had already happened, maybe there could be a silver lining of good from it if it brought any of his memory back.

Eyes closed, Aramis looked almost peacefully asleep at the moment. Then he asked another question.. "Who is Marsac?"

Their eyes once more sought each other, all three of them having felt guilt after Aramis had been forced to shoot his former good friend, because they were busy defending the Captain and thinking Aramis might be defending Marsac over Treville instead of just wanting the truth, whatever it was.

They could see, in hindsight, that Aramis just had needed desperately to know why something like Savoy ever could have occurred. Why so many men he had cared about had lost their lives.

Aramis, hearing the hesitation, asked again, his voice plaintive in his need to know.

Once again, it was Athos who took responsibility for the explanation.

"Marsac used to be a Musketeer, like ourselves Aramis. He was also your very good friend."

"Why is he not here now?"

"He…He is dead, Aramis."

"How did he die?"

They didn't know how to tell him. How could they say he had shot the man he had just learned had been a very good friend?

Aramis reached out again, this time gripping hard when he found Athos' arm. "How?"

"Marsac had found a man who told us that Treville had been involved. We did not believe it possible but you needed concrete answers, Aramis, and you kept digging. Marsac, however, believed Treville was guilty and caught him alone, intending to kill him. You had no choice, Aramis. You…."

Aramis' anguished voice interrupted. "I killed a good friend?" They could see the shock on his face.

Athos also belatedly realized that from the way he had recounted what happened, Aramis could very well believe that Marsac had been a friend of theirs, too. After all, he had been Aramis' friend, as were they, and they were all Musketeers. He might believe they were grieving the loss of a friend Aramis didn't even remember.

"Aramis, you had to shoot him. He was about to kill Treville. You and he had been very good friends before we really formed our closeness. We could '/div  
div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"not understand your loyalty to him at the time this all happened. I believe we thought you were choosing him over the Captain we all highly respect and honor.

"But Marsac, because of all he had gone through from Savoy and afterwards, was no longer the man you once knew. His whole life was set on avenging the massacre. You could not talk him out of it. When he raised his pistol to shoot Treville, you had to stop what would have been a cold-blooded murder of a man you loved and respected, almost a father figure."

Athos also realized that when, not if, Aramis regained his memory, they had to let him know how wrong they had been in not supporting his search for answers. They had discussed the subject at length recently, but with his memory loss, had been forced to wait.

Aramis was exhausted, but trying to fight it to stay awake. Porthos said softly, "Rest, Aramis. We'll talk again," gently massaging his brother's tense shoulders until he finally closed his eyes.

A couple of hours later, Treville came into the infirmary, and immediately went and sat down at Aramis' side, asking, "How is he?"

He was shocked at what they told him, guilt rearing it's ugly head for him again. He had been given no other choice about Savoy, as his duty was to protect and defend the French royal family, and the King's sister had to be kept safe. But it didn't mean he liked the way he had to do it.

"I'm so sorry, Aramis," he whispered to him./div  
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Aramis enjoyed another day outdoors the next day. They enjoyed watching him stop to listen to a bird singing in the tree. When the garrison's adopted mouser rubbed up against his leg begging for some attention, he bent down and took the orange tabby in his arms, stroking her furring and delighting at the purring that immediately once again spoiled his favorite Musketeer with custard,drenched in cherries and cream. All Porthos could do was drool,since Serge didn't bring more than the one serving.

They took him up to his room, hoping something might feel familiar, but although, with their assistance he wandered around running his hands across the blanket on his bed, the books on the shelf, even the windowsill, to his brothers' disappointment, nothing seemed familiar to him.

Later, they brought him back to the infirmary, where he fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. The others looked at each other in silence, each seeing the sadness in the other's eyes.

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In a tavern on the other side of Paris from the Musketeer garrison, four men sat around a table, drinks in their hands.

One seemed slightly out of place with the others, his rich clothing and haughty manner at odds with their worn clothes and rough faces.

The nobleman spoke up, laughing. "I still can't believe how easy this whole affair has gone so far. It has worked perfectly! And who would have guessed that the Musketeer's treatment at our hands would have resulted in his becoming blind and forgetting who he was? We hadn't even planned for anything like that, but it has been a very nice addition," laughing to himself.

Then he went on. "And to think everyone in that garrison thinks someone targeted him. But the object of my vengeance is suffering more this way than if I had instead taken and imprisoned him. Those four men are closer than most blood brothers. The man who incurred my wrath is being torn apart inside: his mind, his heart. This is a perfect revenge, and he doesn't even know it," another full-throated laugh came as he smiled broadly, and the four of them clinked their glasses together.

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Aramis' dreams came back to him late in the night. He saw himself collapsed against an old oak, having watched Marsac tear the pauldron off his shoulder, throw it to the ground, and leave, despite Aramis' desperate pleas not to leave him.

Aramis felt that he would probably die there. His head ached where a bullet had grazed it, and he could tell the wound in his side was bleeding. The falling snow was beginning to cover him, and he was so cold. The only companions he had were 20 dead Musketeers, lying where they had fallen.

A tear slipped down his cheek as he began to lose consciousness.

He vaguely heard a voice calling in the distance. "Aramis!"

He slowly sank further into the darkness, as the voice sounded nearer. "Aramis!" it called, sounding frantic now.

He peered through the thickening snowfall, his eyes finally taking in the two faces above him looking down at him.

They came!

He must have been restless as he slept, as he felt a hand gently jostling his shoulder to awaken him. "Aramis! Wake up! It's all right."

Slowly, his eyes opened.

"You will never desert me."

_**xxxxxxxxxxxxxx**_

Sorry the mystery of his attackers won't be revealed just yet.

If you have time, please review and let me know what you think. I am so grateful for each reader and for reviews.


	7. Chapter 7

"You'll never desert me," Aramis said. His words were spoken with conviction, causing his brothers to wonder if he was fully awake, or still seeing his dream.

"Aramis," Athos said, speaking softly so as not to startle him. "Of course we will never desert you. You are our brother."

Aramis, eyes still completely unfocused in his blindness, didn't reply at first. Then, he almost whispered, "I know," and if his brothers were listening before, they now became even more intent.

Aramis spoke again. "I saw you."

"Where, Aramis?" Porthos asked. "Where did you see us? Can you tell us, please?"

"Savoy," the single word causing a shudder to rack his whole body.

"The s..snow was covering m..e. I..hurt. I th..thought I..I was going to d..die," his stutter betraying the force of the emotions coursing through him.

They kept silence, allowing him to proceed at his own pace. Their hands reached to hold his.

"M..Marsac deserted me. I..I was alone w..with t..twenty dead M..Musketeers. N..No one came for a l..long time. I..I w..was giving up," stumbling over his words in his recounting.

B..but then, I h..heard my name. F..Far off. I..I thought I d..dreamed it. B..But it came again…nearer." His voice was a little stronger now, and his stutter now disappeared.

"You…" he halted as the force of his emotions overcame him.

"Yes, Aramis," came the gently spoken prompt from Athos. They were all intently engrossed in his sharing, needing to hear what he was seeing in his mind's eye.

"I saw you…bending over me. I wasn't alone any more. My brothers…came for me," he finally got out, squeezing their hands, tears streaming down his face. "I know what you look like now. I know m..my brothers."

With his memory's return, he instinctively knew which brothers had hold of each of his hands. Gently disengaging his from Athos' clasp, he felt over their heads, seeking his missing brother's hand to share the moment with him, too. D'Artagnan, realizing what he was doing, eagerly took it.

The emotion in the room felt ready to burst. Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan's hearts were bursting with the joy they experienced at that moment. Their dearest wish had come true.

Aramis was silent for some time, and his brothers just waited patiently, giving him the time he needed to process his turbulent emotions.

"Why couldn't I remember before?" Aramis asked "How could I not know you when you mean so much to me?"

Athos replied, "That is something none of us may ever know, Aramis. Even doctors do not understand the mind at times. You can thank God for His gift," knowing how strong his brother's faith was, even though his own was not.

"And why," he continued, "didn't my sight…," halting when he felt Porthos' big hand cover his once more. "It'll come, mon ami. These things come when it's time. Just be glad right now you got your memory back, like we are."

None of them voiced the fear they were just realizing to him. If his sight didn't come back, he wouldn't be able to stay in the regiment, as a blind man couldn't function as a soldier. But at the same time, they were now highly hopeful again, since his memory had come back. So, since he lost both of them from the same tragic circumstances, wouldn't his ability to see return, as well?

Aramis' eyelids were beginning to droop again. When they saw this, Porthos pulled the blanket over him, Athos saying, "Rest, Aramis. We will talk more about this at our midday meal. Outside?"

Aramis' eagerly nodded, and they all smiled as in the next moment, those drooping eyelids shut.

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Midday came, and as Aramis had indeed awakened in time, they headed out of the infirmary towards their table.

Aramis, hearing two voices near him, called out, "Thierry, Georges, has your aim improved yet?"

Startled, the men named then realized Aramis had recognized their voices. Excited now they called out to a group near the gates, "Hey, Aramis knows us!"

Aramis was suddenly surrounded by all of them, being clapped on the back and told how happy they were to know his memory had returned.

Even though it had, the blindness caused him to tense up when he was hemmed in, albeit joyfully and eagerly so, and his brothers could feel it.

"Albert, Raoul, lead this pack back to their training, eh?" Porthos jokingly dispersed the men.

They continued on to their table, where Serge brought out big bowls of chicken stew, thick slices of fresh-baked bread and for Aramis only, an apple/cherry tart. He had heard the men rejoicing, and wanted something special for 'his favorite'. As before, Porthos growled in frustration, and Aramis just grinned, before eating the whole tart enthusiastically.

Treville, who had been on business at the palace since sunup, rode in and saw the smiles and laughter. Knowing how painful Aramis' situation had been for all of them, he he dismounted and headed over to their table, curious.

"Athos," Treville started to say, only to see Aramis turn around and exclaim, "Captain!"

For him to recognize his captain's voice after only uttering one word, Treville had the answer to his unspoken question answered. "Your memory came back!"

Aramis grinned and answered, "It did indeed, Captain!"

Porthos, enjoying the light mood and spirit, added, "Not that there was much in there to come back!"

Everyone roared at that one, and Aramis' heart was full to bursting at the return of the love and brotherhood of his friends surrounding him. And of his captain, who had mentored him since he had been barely into manhood yet.

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At a hunting lodge some distance from Paris, the nobleman from the tavern sat alone, drinking. Looking up at a painted portrait on the wall, he said aloud to the empty room, "Why did he have to take you away from me? I hope his life is as miserable now as mine has become every time he gazes at his friend."

Continuing to drown his sorrow, he began again, talking once again to the portrait, "My men will keep the garrison under surveillance. I never want to get a report of a smile on his face again. He deserves a hole in his heart that is filled only with sorrow, as mine has become. If he is ever content again, death will wipe it away forever."

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After their midday meal, Athos surprised Aramis by asking if he would like to take a walk in the city. Aramis hesitated, not sure since he couldn't see and concerned about being around so many people.

When he finally voiced his concern, they reassured him that they would be on either side of him, d'Artagnan telling him that he would walk ahead of them and 'clear the way'.

Aramis, remembering how much he used to take walks, had been slightly embarrassed to share his hesitation with them. How could he have such a fear when he was a soldier in the King's Musketeers? They understood, though, telling him it was only natural for him to feel that way.

He let them talk him into it then. Maybe it would be good for him to use his other senses to 'see' what his eyes could not.

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An hour later, they left the garrison through the gates, Athos with a hand clasping his elbow on his left, Porthos doing the same on his right. D'Artagnan walked several steps ahead of him, true to his word, politely but insistently clearing a way for them.

It took a little while, but Aramis finally began to relax and enjoy himself. His hearing picked up sounds he recognized. Children at play. Men thanking a customer for a sale at shop doors. A flower girl calling out her wares: 'a pretty bouquet for Madame? '

Porthos got an idea, and pointed to the vender carts they were approaching. They stopped at one, and Aramis recognized the apple vendor's voice.

"Mattieu! Do you have a juicy big one for me today?"

The vendor turned and recognized him. "Monsieur Aramis!"

Then, he noticed how Aramis didn't look him in the eye, and Athos and Porthos holding on to to his arms to guide him. Porthos saw the moment the vendor figured out what was wrong, and forestalled him, saying, "How about that one," pointing out a delicious-looking apple to the left in his cart, and at the same time shaking his head in warning to the vendor.

The vendor, understanding, put the apple into Aramis' hand, closing the marksman's fingers around it with a gentle touch, his eyes now saddened as he looked at his long-time favorite customer as they walked away.

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They enjoyed the rest of their outing, Aramis munching his apple while he listened to the sounds around him. Sometimes, he would stop and reach out to touch something he brushed against or heard, curiosity getting the better of him. A cart full of lengths of cloth that felt luxurious under his fingers. A dog that insistently kept barking near his leg.

His brothers were content to see him enjoying himself, while at the same time watchful that no pickpockets or former adversaries of theirs were in the vicinity. They did, though, from time to time glance over at their brother, fervently hoping that his sight was not lost to him forever. What would he do with life in that event? Leave the garrison? How would he get by?

But they were unaware of several sets of eyes that followed their every movement, as the men weren't residents of Paris and weren't known to them.

"The master will be pleased with the sad glances his friends had turned towards their former captive. It won't heal his own heart, but it will ease his pain a bit."


	8. Chapter 8

**_I'm sorry this is so short. It was another crazy week for me. Next week's should be longer. Enjoy!_**

Aramis was full of joy with the return of his memory, and his brothers shared in his happiness.

He tried very hard to hide the downside of his life, that of his blindness, not wanting his brothers to have any of his hidden sadness. But they were brothers also because they could often read each other like a book: their emotions like an open window into each of our them's hearts.

Dr. Lemay had paid a visit at their invitation, and it was he that told them it had to have been the sizable lump on his head that probably had caused the amnesia. He found that it had finally disappeared, and with it his memory loss.

"His lack of sight could possibly have it's cause from one of the injuries near his eyes that he suffered when he was beaten," the good doctor told them, "but unfortunately, the field of medicine has not advanced far enough as yet to know for sure. Continue to keep an eye on him, and let me know at once if anything changes for better or worse."

As he left, he almost rued that he had phrased his words in such a way, but then realized that it was probably for the best that they be forewarned. They needed to know ahead of time that Aramis' condition could go any of three ways. His eyesight could return, stay as it was now, or worsen, depending on why it had occurred in the first place.

His heart again went out to the injured Musketeer. His Musketeer life would be forfeit if his eyesight didn't return. He knew Aramis well enough to know how much that would devastate him.

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Aramis had agreed to accompany his brothers to one of their favorite taverns for the evening next day. There were a number of other members of their garrison present and it quickly became a celebration, with toasts to the marksman's memory return.

Midway through the evening, Aramis needed to take a trip outside for personal reasons. Porthos quickly got up and accompanied him, taking his elbow to guide him through the packed and boisterous tavern and out into the peace and relative quiet of the Paris side street.

Aramis smiled as he heard his protective brother walk to the entrance of the little side street to give him privacy.

But the next moment, he felt himself hands grabbing his arms, at the same time as a big meaty hand wrapped itself around his mouth before he could call out. He tried his best to struggle against them, but wasn't in good enough shape to make any headway.

He felt himself being forced backwards, before bring slammed face first against the wall. His arms were now twisted painfully up in back of him, and he felt a hand could feel hands making their way down his doublet, searching. For money, he thought.

Street thieves, he thought to himself. I'm a Musketeer, the King's elite guard, and two street thieves got the best of me with barely any trouble from him.

A blind Musketeer, he corrected himself. Useless to defend anyone, he thought bitterly, including himself.

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Aramis had needed privacy, so Porthos entertained himself a few yards away, watching two elderly men who had imbibed a little too much trying to hold each other up and make their way down the street.

Still laughing as he finally turned back to his friend, he became instantly irate at the sight that greeted him.

Two men had Aramis pushed against the wall, his arms bent painfully behind him by one of them, the other having one hand clamped firmly over the Musketeer's mouth while the other hand was searching his doublet for money.

Focused on their victim, they didn't notice Porthos coming until it was too late. When he was within striking distance, Porthos punched the one holding his brother in the small of his back, the man gasping and doubling over at the blow. Ripping the other man's arm away from the suffocating hold he had on Aramis, he quickly whirled him around to face him, and punched him in the face hard enough that the man dropped like a lead weight to the ground. The first man was already running away as fast as he was able, still coughing from Porthos' attack.

Porthos quickly turned to Aramis, who was wheezing from lack of air from having his attacker's hand not only covering his mouth, but part of it over his nose, as well.

Sitting his brother gently down, Porthos squatted beside him and let him gradually regain his breath, alert for any return of the attacker who had fled.

Aramis continued to wheezed heavily for a few minutes, interspersed with coughing, as he struggled to breathe normally again. Finally, it calmed down enough for him to speak.

"P..Porthos..." Aramis wheezed out, reaching out with his hand for the reassuring bulk of his dear friend's presence.

"It's all right, mon ami," Porthos told him. "They're no threat any more," checking to make sure the second man was still out cold. "Why don't we go back inside with our friends?"

"Porthos," Aramis continued as if he hadn't heard him. "How can I be a Musketeer if I can't even see defend myself from a couple of street thieves?" in his voice a note of deep sadness.

"Aramis, it's way too soon to think like that. Lemay thinks your blindness may be from one of the injuries close to your eyes. He hasn't told us the loss is permanent (carefully leaving out Lemay's two other possibilities), so it could come back soon and you'll be fine."

"But it might not and I need to face that fact, and the fact that if it doesn't, I can no longer be a Musketeer," his voice breaking at his last words.

"We don't know that it's permanent, and neither do you. We are going to think positive," said Porthos, gently squeezing Aramis' shoulder. "Let's go back inside," suiting his actions to his words by slipping his arms under Aramis' shoulders and lifting him to his feet.

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The mysterious nobleman listened to the report his men were making of their continued surveillance of the Musketeers.

He frowned upon hearing of their former captive's memory return. The frown deepened into a scowl when they told him how jubilant his brothers were now, especially angry that the particular object of his hatred was rejoicing.

"How dare he have anything to be happy about when my son lies six feet under in a grave? My pride and joy taken from me in the prime of his life," his voice growing steadily louder as he spoke, his face red from his emotions.

"Continue to follow them. I may have further work for you soon," he said, dismissing them.


	9. Chapter 9

When Aramis and Porthos returned to their table in the tavern, Athos and d'Artagnan took one look at Aramis and shot out of their seats.

Athos laid his hand on Aramis' shoulder and asked him, "What happened?"

Before the marksman could reply, Porthos said, "Street thieves. Thought he would be an easy mark. He…"

ramis cut him off, saying tersely, "I am an easy mark. I can't see anyone coming. I can't fight men I can't see, and they knew it. I don't know how I'll survive on the streets once my commission is taken away.

All three of them protested at his words.

"Your sight is gonna come back, Aramis. Just you wait and see," Porthos insisted again as he had outside a few moments earlier, then winced as he realized the way he had worded his response.

And Aramis had definitely noticed, as he said, "I'm still waiting to 'see'."

D'Artagnan spoke up next. "We can figure out some moves you can use to protect yourself. And you know your home is here at the garrison."

"I have to know someone is even there to try to defend myself. I never even noticed anyone coming at me, d'Artagnan. And the King will not tolerate someone in his regiment who can't pull his own weight. You all know that."

Athos, who had remained silent while his brothers were talking, at last spoke. "Aramis, we all believe with all of our hearts that you will regain your sight. However, if by some remote chance you do not, it would be barely dipping into my inheritance to make sure you have a home and are provided for the rest of your life. You will never (emphasizing the word) be relegated to the streets."

Aramis, tears in his eyes now, whispered, "I would still feel like a beggar, Athos. I have always made my own way, and never lived on charity. I couldn't."

Athos continued, "Aramis, you are forgetting something very important. You are precious to us. Far more than I can put into words. If indeed you fail to regain your sight-and I still sincerely believe you will-please let me do this for you. It comes from my heart, brother."

Aramis remained silent, but Athos' words, all of their words, meant the world to him. He didn't think he could suffer living in charity off someone, but the offer touched him deeply. Slowly, he reached out and laid his hand on his brother's. He wasn't expecting it, but as soon as he did, he felt another hand atop his, and then more pressure as another completed the gesture. His sightless eyes once again were filled with tears at the love he felt from them.

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Next morning at their morning meal, Porthos brought up the subject of self-defense, having obviously given it some thought and prayer listening to Aramis' words the evening before.

"Why don't we go over some moves with you after we finish eating?" he asked Aramis. "Then, if you do hear someone sneaking up on you, you can defend yourself."

Aramis nodded his head, wanting to make Porthos happy, since he was trying so hard to help him. But inside, he didn't think it would help.

The four walked over to the training area later, and Porthos talked the whole way over, trying to get Aramis into the right frame of mind before they started. He knew his brother well, and didn't think Aramis believed anything would work.

"All right," he began when they got to the training compound and shooed everyone already there to other areas. Aramis didn't need an audience while he did this. "Remember how many times you and I have done the 'blindfolded Aramis shoots a bottle tossed in the air' trick?"

Aramis slowly nodded his head, seeing where Porthos was headed.

"Aramis, that's how good your hearing normally is. And I've always heard tell if someone is without one of their senses, the others get better to compensate. Stand still for a moment, and just listen."

Aramis did as Porthos suggested. He cocked his head to one side, and tried to listen as intently as he could.

He heard the birds chirping their morning songs. He could even name the different birds by how they sang. Getting more interested now, he kept listening.

He could hear the pots, pans and dishes as they rattled in Serge's kitchen, the retired Musketeer making short work of the early morning dishes.

He could hear several of the men his brothers had just shooed away from them sparring with each other past the next building.

He could even hear the cadet at the gates inquiring of a visitor who they wanted to see and why. A little smile began to play around his mouth as he had to admit that Porthos might very well be on to something.

Turning to his brothers, he said, "I concede your point. I will try out the moves you suggest," which caused all three of them to break into grins, and inside take a deep breath of relief at the same time.

Among the first moves suggested was an elbow in the stomach. Attackers who had chosen him as an easy mark because of his lack of sight probably wouldn't be expecting this, especially if it was done as soon as he felt movement near him.

He stopped, though, as a thought occurred to him.

"What if I mistake one of you returning to my side for a threat? I don't want to hurt any of you," concern marking his expression.

"Aramis," Athos replied, "I doubt if that would happen. But even if it did, I would far rather suffer a blow to the stomach in your attempt to protect yourself, than have you seriously injured or killed instead."

"Same here," the others chimed in.

They moved on. Several other moves were suggested and practiced: tripping someone with a suddenly thrust-out leg; ducking down and punching straight-ahead; head-butting.

"But with the head-butting, you need to wait til they're real close before doing it, so the other moves probably need to be tried first," Porthos cautioned him.

All in all, they instilled a little more confidence in the marksman than he had awakened with that morning. When they were finished, Athos asked him if he would like to resume wearing his pistol, which surprised Aramis.

Seeing the look, Athos said, "Aramis, don't forget that I, too, have seen the trick you and Porthos are so good at. If you can tell where a bottle is while blindfolded simply by your hearing skills, you can possibly use that same pistol to defend yourself."

Excited at the possibility of being armed again, Aramis let his brothers take him to the armory. Handed his pistol, he lovingly ran his hand over the barrel and handle, before holstering it on the weapons belt that d'Artagnan had just buckled on for him.

He had felt so naked and defenseless without them, even though he still had unvoiced doubts about hitting his target, and not his brothers or some other innocent targets.

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Aramis was closer to his old self at supper that night. His brothers had once again talked him into eating, this time at their favorite tavern. They all knew he loved the chicken and potato stew the cook made there.

After supper, Porthos pulled out the canvas bag he had carried with him from the garrison. He had refused to answer Aramis' curious question about what it contained after the marksman had felt it brush against his leg on their way to their destination.

Opening the bag now, he pulled out four lemon tarts, each with a raspberry adorning the middle. Aramis dug into his while they waited to see his reaction. His expression was sheer bliss as he swallowed his first bite, sighing with pleasure, and all of them shared in his enjoyment.

Satisfied that his surprise was well-received, Porthos couldn't wait now to taste his. It wasn't often that he could coax the feisty cook to make him or the others one, and he was very pleased with himself.

A few minutes later, he had cause to be very happy that he was a quick eater. A card game at the next table erupted into a fight, and two of the brawlers landed against the Musketeer's table. All of them had just finished their treats, so no harm was done. D'Artagnan moved swiftly enough to shepherd Aramis out of the way.

Athos calmly stood up and told the men he and his companions were Musketeers, and that if the fighters didn't cease the trouble and leave immediately, they would all be arrested. That chased all the troublemakers out the back door in a hurry, grumbling as they went, and the tavern went back to normal again.

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Four men rode back into Paris after meeting again with the nobleman who had hired them. His instructions had been succinct and short. They were to carry out his orders without question, the last instruction given when one of the men had mistakenly thought he could question the Baron about why he wanted this done. The Baron had flown into a rage that commoners, as he called them, would dare question anything he did.

They had left silently after that, determined to prove that four commoners could at least do their job, even if they were looked down upon.

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The Musketeers stayed late that night, enjoying one another's company and Aramis' joie de vivre. The marksman was telling exaggerated tales of missions past, and had them laughing til they teared up.

Finally, Athos called a halt to the gaiety by reminding them that they had muster bright and early tomorrow-here he corrected himself-this morning. "Treville will not be best pleased if he has half-awake Musketeers trying to stand at attention, gentlemen. Shall we go?"

They headed out the door and down the street, still in a jovial state of mind. That was, until they were suddenly surrounded by a menacing group of men, bearing clubs and knives, who lost no time in attacking.

They had no time to put themselves as a barrier between the attackers and Aramis. They all had they could do just dealing with the men coming at them.

The men attacked, viciously swinging their clubs and throwing knives. Even as they then engaged in fierce and brutal hand-to-hand fighting, Athos recognized faces from the group he had ordered to vacate the tavern earlier in the evening. They had decided on revenge.

Aramis could hear what was happening. He reached for his pistol, but felt a hand grasp his wrist to stop him. Remembering what he had been practicing with his brothers, though, he shot his elbow hard in the direction he thought was the man's stomach, and was rewarded when he heard a grunt of pain as his wrist was released.

He knew he couldn't help his brothers because he couldn't see who was who. He barely digested that thought when he heard footsteps coming, and a voice ridiculing him saying, "Look what we have here. It's the blind one. He thinks he's a match for us!" laughing as he now stood in front of Aramis.

What the man didn't know was that the talking the man was doing was giving the marksman all he needed to target the man. He kicked out straight ahead, and the man howled when Aramis' leather boots connected with his kneecap, shattering it.

Aramis was buoyed by his success with the men, waiting near the wall for the next one to try something.

But he couldn't see the door open behind him. Hands reached out and yanked him inside, a hand covering his mouth to keep him from alerting his brothers.

He was quickly wrestled to the ground face-first, despite his desperate struggles to break free. He felt rope being twisting around his wrists and ankles. Then, one of the men taunted him, saying, "Thought you would never see us again, didn't you? Our employer needs you again!" as he forced a rag into his mouth, using another one to tie it in place.

"Hurry up!" one of the others said, "before his friends realize he's missing."

Aramis felt rough hands lift him up and carry him outside. He was dumped in a cart, and two of the men climbed in after him, while he heard other men in front of him urging the horses to speed up.

His heart sank as the cart drove further and further away from his brothers. How would they find him, he despaired.

One of the men leaned over and taunted him. "We're not going to kill you-at least we haven't been given any orders about that yet. You're bait, Musketeer. When we tell your friend we have you, your friend will come running. Our employer has been waiting a long time for his revenge."

Aramis felt sick to his stomach. He would be used to lure one of his brothers to his death? Working silently, he desperately began to try to get his hands free.

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The Musketeers finally finished the fight, and subdued those still living. Then they froze, as they realized Aramis wasn't in sight. What had happened?

Frantically, Athos and Porthos conducted a search of the street and alleys, while d'Artagnan kept and eye on the men they had defeated. Nothing.

Knocking on the doors of the only two buildings that appeared occupied, they received shakes of the heads when the men who answered were asked if they had seen or heard anything suspicious.

Walking away, Porthos muttered, They're just too scared to say anything."

Dejectedly walking back towards the scene of the fighting, Porthos noticed something colorful laying near a doorway. Going over and picking it up, he yelled, "It's Aramis' sash! He was taken right near where we were fighting!

D'Artagnan, seeing them coming and looking frustrated, said, "It wasn't the men we were fighting. We took care of all of them. Who took him?"

Athos, who had been silent, said, "I am very much afraid that it might be his former captors. The noise of the fighting masked any activity from them, or any call for help that Aramis' could have tried to make."

"What do they want him for again?!"

_**This has to be one of the longest chapters I've written! **_

_**So which one of Aramis' brothers is being targetted? And who is the Baron? **_

_**Please let me know what you think. Your reviews and follows always encourage me, and I appreciate them so much.**_


	10. Chapter 10

The distance from Paris continued to grow, the cart taking Aramis further from his brothers.

"What did they want with one of his brothers, he wondered. Whoever it was obviously knew how close he and his brothers were, to know he could lure his target out by threatening him.

He had rubbed the skin of his wrists raw and bleeding trying to get loose, but all to no avail. The man who had tied the knots was very good at it.

The dirt road they were currently travelling on was smooth most of the time, but they had encountered several rough spots, which caused the vehicle to sway from side to side. Aramis was unable to prevent his body from being jolted and banged against the sides, and the men in the cart with him seemed amused that he had no way to protect himself.

As they went around a particularly rough bend in the road, it flung all of them clear across the cart. The last thing Aramis felt before he blacked out was his head slamming against the wooden slats comprising the side of the cart.

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Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan really didn't look forward to telling the Captain what had transpired that evening. But as they walked back through the garrison gates, even being past midnight, the first thing they heard was their names being very loudly called. Looking up the stairs, Treville's gaze locked on theirs.

"My office. Now."

"Looking at each other, they all silently heaved big sighs and marched up the steps.

Entering the office, they stood at attention before Treville's desk.

"How in the world did you lose Aramis tonight?" he began without preamble.

They risked a glance at each other. How could he possibly know about this already, they thought. They knew there were always one or two men who envied the attention and respect they and the Captain always showed each other. But those men were not present at the tavern tonight. So how could Treville have received word this quickly?

Treville observed their unspoken question. He let them stew about it a few more moments, before retrieving a folded paper from his drawer, and pushing it across his desk at them wordlessly.

Athos took the paper and unfolded it, a hole present near the top of it. He began to read it aloud, Porthos and d'Artagnan reading over his shoulder.

Musketeers, it began.

The first thing all three of them noticed was the elegant hand it was written in. It practically shouted 'aristocrat' at them. It didn't greatly surprise them, as whoever could afford to hire men to carry out his nefarious dealings had to have considerable means at hand, and the aristocracy had more of it available than anyone outside of the royal family themselves.

You have no doubt noticed by now that one of you is missing.

Aramis! Suddenly, their bodies tensed up.

Continuing to read, although faster now, the note continued:

I have waited for a long time to have my vengeance, but have it I will. The time has arrived.

Athos.

I had mistakenly thought nearly killing your 'brother', and an unplanned and unexpected bonus of amnesia and blindness, could break your heart as you once broke mine. I see now that I was mistaken.

The only satisfaction I will find is ending the life of the man who destroyed mine, taking away what was most precious to me.

He was ridiculously easy to overcome. Blindness does not become a man, especially in your chosen line of work.

Listen well.

You will follow a series of directions I will leave for you. The first will arrive tomorrow morning. If my man is detained or harmed in any way, your 'brother' will be harmed, as well. Come entirely alone. I have men hidden and watching.

Each direction I leave will tell you where to find the next one.

You will come unarmed. No knife in your boot, or other tricks. My men are highly trained, and more than a match for a lowly Musketeer.

Failure to follow my instructions to the letter will result in your blind 'brother' being killed in the most painful method I can devise.

Here, Porthos growled in his rage. D'Artagnan punched one fist inside of another.

Athos' reaction was, perhaps, the most telling, given that in most circumstances he was stoic, his emotions hidden inside. The unadulterated anger at the unknown man's audacity to do this, coupled with his fear for his helpless brother's life, were burning in his eyes.

He didn't speak a first, taking a deep breath to calm down the rage he felt inside. Then, he asked the question on all their minds.

"How did this letter arrive, Captain? Aramis was barely yet taken, and yet this preceded us in getting here."

"We do not know who delivered it. A crossbow bolt was shot from nearby, into one of the garrison gates. The note was impaled on the crossbow."

Now, they knew why the hole was present.

Athos continued. "They were arrogantly sure of themselves. This was written before the events of this evening obviously, and delivered close to the time Aramis would have been taken."

"There aren't a whole lot of people who know how to handle a crossbow that well to shoot from hiding some distance away," Porthos added.

"They had to have been following us whenever we left the garrison looking for an opportunity, and those brawlers from the tavern gave it to them," d'Artagnan continued.

Treville listened without interrupting, knowing well how good his men were at detective work.

"Who were these brawlers?" he asked now.

"Just some men who began fighting amongst themselves, Captain," Porthos told him. "They started by arguing-loudly-then fists started flying. A couple of them landed on our table, so Athos told them they would be arrested if they didn't leave."

"D'Artagnan said, "They were waiting for us outside."

"Could they have been a diversion?" Treville asked.

"It is possible, Captain," Athos responded. "They are known in more than a few taverns in Paris for their quick tempers and rough behavior. But somehow, I do not think so."

Hearing their comments, Treville revised his earlier judgement.

"From this moment, your sole duty is to find Aramis. From this unknown man's words, you will, unfortunately, need to follow his instructions. But be on high alert. Porthos, d'Artagnan, you will trail him him at a distance, but make sure you are not seen."

As they turned to leave Treville said softly, "Bring him back safely."

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Aramis gradually came back to consciousness, his head pounding furiously. It took him a moment to remember where he was, and what had happened. Then, he felt the ropes biting into his skin, the gag, and everything came back to him as his eyes flew open.

Everything was a grey mist at first. But Aramis' heart leaped at the lack of inky blackness that had been all he could see for so long.

Blinking rapidly, he began to see vague shapes. His heart was beating so hard now that he took a deep breath to try to calm it.

Lying still, he closed his eyes for a moment. Trying to remain calm, he reopened them.

Sunlight! Beautiful light of day. He couldn't help it. The tears began to fill his eyes as he next saw trees along the side of the road. A bird flew overhead, and his eyes followed it's path.

Thanksgiving prayers arose in him, silently recited in utter gratefulness for his sight's return. He didn't think he could contain his joy.

But a moment later, he heard rustling as his guards awoke from the accident also.

Aramis thought rapidly. I need to make them think I am unchanged. That I am a blind man still. Maybe I can find a way to help Athos out of this situation.

t was hard to lay back with his eyes closed as the men roused themselves, and immediately checked on their prisoner.

"Good. If anything happened to this one before we even got him to the Baron, he would have had our heads."

Baron. So whoever was behind this was an aristocrat. But why did he want vengeance on Athos?

He lay unmoving as the cart trundled on, his mind going over possibilities to get free and end this vendetta before anyone was killed. Laying down, it was impossible to see anything to maybe recognize where they were going.

Eventually, though, the cart gradually came to a standstill.

The men laid hands on him, lifting him under his arms, and Aramis had to steel himself to remain still with their rough handling of him. He kept his eyes downcast, seeing only dirt as he was hauled out of the cart.

Then, he was being dragged, his feet skimming along the ground.

Stopping at last, he was lifted upright, slamming his back against something, probably a wooden post. His hands were quickly untied, then bound tightly again around whatever he was pushed against.

Then his breath quickened as he felt a strip of leather wrapped around both his neck and the tree.

One of the men, the one who seemed to enjoy taunting him, said, "Not going anywhere now, are we? Not that you could see where you were going if you were able to get free." Then, he added, "Out here in the middle of the courtyard, you will be the first thing your friend sees when he gets here."

A door banged a short distance away.

"Ah, the Master has come to inspect his bait."

Footsteps approached, halting in front of Aramis, who had to stop himself from opening his eyes to finally see who the man behind everything was.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the Musketeer who is rumored to have half the women of Paris in love with him. I wonder what they would think if the could see the object of their affection now. Blind and helpless. You are to be the means to finally rid myself of the man who took my son from me. The lure is in place, and the trap is ready to be sprung."

Aramis was stunned. He was unable to look up and give away the fact that he could see, but he didn't need to see to recognize that voice.

It was so clear now. The man became unhinged when his son was killed, regardless of his having instigated the attack in the first place that ended with his heir's death.

Renard.


	11. Chapter 11

After Renard turned and walked back into his home, Aramis redoubled his efforts to get his hands free, but to no avail. He couldn't let Athos give himself up. He couldn't live with himself if his brother was killed.

The sun was beating down, and he had no way to protect himself from it. He had no idea how long Renard would lead Athos one way, then another. He had boasted that he hoped by doing this that the swordsman wouldn't realize where his ultimate destination was. But, Aramis thought, the man didn't know Athos nearly as well as he seemed to think he did. Somehow, he had to find a way to get free.

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Athos had saddled up and left the garrison as soon as the first note had been delivered. The young boy had told them a scruffy man with his hat pulled down on his face had given him a coin to deliver the piece of paper with scribbles on it, as the lad had described what he had handed over.

The note was very brief, given the direction to where he was to find the next note, and another warning of what would happen if they didn't heed his original missive.

They had heatedly discussed beforehand how things were to proceed, Porthos and d'Artagnan refusing to let him walk into a trap without any backup, Athos refusing to consider possibly further endangering Aramis' life. They had argued back and forth for some time, neither side giving an inch until Treville stepped in and settled it peremptorily.

"Portho, d'Artagnan, you will follow at a good distance behind." Seeing Athos about to object, he said, "Athos, rarely do you allow it, but your heart is ruling your head right now. We know you feel guilty that Aramis' life is in danger because this deranged man blames you for his son's death. You know we all wish to free Aramis as much as you do. But going in without backup is going to result in the deaths of both of you.

At these words, Athos knew better than to argue any further. He had too much respect for his Captain to continue, but just resigned himself to the circumstances.

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Athos rode until nearly midday to reach the location described in the note. He had no difficulty finding the second one. Running his eyes through the note, he found to his dismay that the second leg would be as long as the first had been.

What is this man's point in dragging out the inevitable, he groused to himself. Figuring unseen eyes were keeping track of him from the instructions in the original letter, he pulled himself up into his saddle, and resolutely continued his forced journey.

Finally reaching the second stop, he again spied the note with little trouble. This one's path was somewhat shorter, but already caused him to figure he would have to make camp for the night.

Athos would far much rather have the final encounter without all these delays. His thoughts kept turning to his brother, and hoping he was not enduring any injuries from his kidnapping. He just had no way of knowing.

As he had already suspected, the third stop was not his final destination, but led to yet another small piece of paper thrust onto a bush in a clearing.

Kindling a small fire, he laid back on his saddle for a pillow, and closed his eyes. He got little sleep that night regardless, turning possible scenarios over in his mind of the eventual outcome.

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Aramis' body had wilted with the heat he had been forced to stand in. The late summer sun beat down mercilessly. He continued to work on the ropes, though it was getting harder because his wrists had started to bleed, and that plus the sweat mingling in made it slick going.

Renard had stayed inside. The other men lounged on the steps to the house, just close enough to know their captive was still in place.

None of them had offered him anything to eat or drink, a telling sign. If they had no designs with him other than to use to get Athos, they would have no reason to deny him sustenance. But if they already saw him as an eventual dead man, they would have no reason give him anything.

Either way, he was so far unable to do anything about it, as he continued rubbing the ropes together.

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Porthos and d'Artagnan stayed well back of Athos, keeping a close eye on their surroundings. They were only too well aware of violating Renard's 'rules' by coming at all.

But Treville was right. They couldn't just allow Athos to go up against an untold number of Renard's hirelings without at least keeping a distant watch. But their eyes continually scanned the hills and trees for possible movement, a sign that the enemy had found them out.

All went well the first day. Nothing out of place, no glints of metal among the trees to indicate a firearm aimed in their direction. But they didn't relax as they made camp for the night after spying the last of Athos' small pieces of bark at the second stop, a hasty message written in charcoal on the back and placed with the reverse side showing on the ground.

So far, so good.

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Athos rose first thing in the morning as tired and frustrated as he had been when he had laid down the evening before.

How long was this going to last?

He saddled up and started off again. He still had some idea of where he was, but obviously, the author of this whole mess wished to change that by the routes he was taking.

Three hours after sunrise, he entered yet another clearing, with yet another note waiting for him. He nearly growled in frustration, but restrained himself and moved on, the small piece of bark lying on the ground under a bush once more.

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Porthos and d'Artagnan's feelings very much matched their brother's. They would all far rather have action than delays.

"How much farther can it possibly be?" d'Artagnan muttered. "When…."

Porthos had lifted a hand in warning. He was staring intently at a stand of trees a hundred or yards away, then suddenly yelled, "Ambush!"

They both wheeled their mounts around, dismounting and dropping behind some thick brush, weapons drawn.

Three men emerged from the trees, pistols aimed and eyes searching.

Porthos and d'Artagnan waited til they were almost upon them to suddenly leap to their feet swinging.

They had their hands full, three against two, but they had faced larger odds many times successfully.

Porthos' fist took out one of them, the man dropping heavily to the ground and unmoving. D'Artagnan had resorted to his main gauche, another man dropping with the dagger through his shoulder.

The third man then decided to retreat, but Porthos and d'Artagnan each grabbed and arm and swung him around, right into the trunk of a tree. He didn't get up.

They decided to tightly bind all three men to trees and gag them, hoping no one would come upon them and release them before they and Athos' reached whatever destination awaited them. They wanted to keep them out of commission, stopping them from reporting back to whoever was paying them that there was more than one man heading their way.

They didn't even want to think what could have happened if they had been found out. The original note had specifically said that if they violated any of his rules, that Aramis would be harmed. But these men were silenced now.

As they again mounted their horses to resume tailing Athos, neither man noticed a rider high up on the hill behind them, as he turned his horse and rode furiously off.

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A rider appeared in late afternoon, dismounting and moving rapidly up the steps to the manor. Knocking heavily on the door, he was received inside and the door shut.

Not long after, Renard emerged from his door again. He strode angrily down the steps, the rider behind him. The men tossing dice on the steps joined them as they headed for Aramis.

"Seems you Musketeers don't know how to follow instructions," Renard bellowed. "Your friends were specifically told that no one but Athos was to come. I told them what would happen if they went against my wishes. You, unfortunately, will bear the consequences."

Turning to his men, he said tersely, "Prepare him."

Aramis was untied from the post and his hand were pulled in front of him and back around the post, where they were retied. His shirt was ripped open down the back.

Aramis held on to his pretense of not being able to see by keeping his eyes downcast, but his heart was racing. What they had done with his shirt made his stomach clench. It was usually done before someone was whipped.

His worst fears were realized when Renard spoke again. "Athos escaped my lash at Pinon when you Musketeers showed up. I'm afraid you will not be so lucky as to escape my arm," swinging the lash as he finished speaking.

Aramis' body arched from the blow, trying to escape the pain. But there was no way to move away, as the lash came down again and again.

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When Renard finally walked away, Aramis was mercifully unconscious. They cut him loose, before returning him to the position he had been in previously, with his arms behind him again.

They worked silently, and Aramis never woke up.

One of the men, a thin, neatly-dressed young man, looked down at the Musketeer with sadness after the others had walked away to find their dinners.

"I wish I could help you. They would tear me apart, though," he murmured.

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Athos was beyond frustrated at the game he was being forced to play, to the point that he was just about ready to break it's rules.

Athos wondered if the man thought he was dense or stupid. The path he had been led to follow had just brought him through land on some of his own former property.

He had already suspected who it could be after seeing and reading the man's pompous note. 'We are just dancing around the perimeters of your property, he thought. 'I am done with this travesty', turning his horse as the words ran through his head. He directed his mount in a direct line for Renard's home, his hand now steadily hovering over his pistol as a precaution.

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As he rode cautiously through the break in the treeline and the Baron's home came into view, Athos came to an abrupt halt at what he saw.

His brother, bound to a wooden post squarely in the center of the courtyard, was sagging badly. There was no sign that he was conscious. He could see quite a bit of what looked, from where he was situated, like blood. Athos couldn't see what had been done to him, though.

He was simmering now, having a difficult time holding his emotions back.

A shout caused his attention to be pulled away from his brother, as men with drawn guns headed for him.

He thought briefly of opening fire, but he wouldn't endanger Aramis' life any further by doing so-yet.

Slowly raising his hands, he dropped the pistol from his right to show that he was surrendering.


	12. Chapter 12

"Stay where you are!"

Did they think he was stupid? Athos thought. Raising his voice in a commanding tone, he called out, "Renard!"

Renard's men stood with their pistols trained on Athos, who remained still, his hands raised in the air. He didn't want to risk the life of his brother by any untoward actions.

His eyes, however, stayed unwaveringly on his brother, who had remained utterly still. He had no way of knowing if Aramis was even alive.

Aramis had been abducted by evil men, roughly treated, and being blind and not able to see them, couldn't tell where he had been taken. He had possibly not even been told why. He had been alone through everything. He needed to know that someone who cared was now there. He didn't add 'if he was alive'. He wouldn't let the thought take hold.

His hands still raised and his body unmoving, despite the threat in front of him, Athos called out clearly, "Aramis!"

Receiving no response whatever, he tried again, louder. "Aramis!"

If he had blinked, he probably would have missed it. Aramis' head moved ever so slightly, before becoming still once more. But it was enough. /div  
div dir="auto"

Athos let out the breath in relief that he hadn't even known he was holding. His brother was alive! He had no way yet of knowing what had been done to him, but he was alive. The pain of not knowing for sure for days, and then seeing him in his current condition, had been eased.

Renard's voice sounded, and Athos' attention turned towards the house, where the Baron was standing on the steps with his hands on his hips, looking almost triumphant. He had witnessed Athos' worry, followed by his face betraying his relief. He was very much enjoying the emotions forced upon the normally stoic swordsman.

"Let him go, Renard," Athos demanded. "You used him to get me. I am here. You have what you wanted. Let him go."

"Athos, Athos. Still playing the part of an aristocrat. You must have been insane to give up your title and your wealth. Then, you compounded your errors by giving your lands to peasants, an insult to every gently-born man in France. But still demanding." The man was very much enjoying having the upper hand.

"You sent a missive saying you had my brother. You demanded I come. I am here. I repeat-let him go."

"You have obviously not understood my reasons for wanting you to come. Being among the common people day in and day out has softened your mind."

Athos was wondering what new twist was working itself out in Renard's mind. The Baron seemed to be playing a game where only he knew the rules. Athos was perfectly able to play games of his own in return, if not for his brother lying helpless before him.

He just hoped Porthos and d'Artagnan had discovered all of his 'clues', and were even now present, or on their way here to even the odds a little.

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Porthos and d'Artagnan peered out from the edge of the forest that surrounded the Baron's land on two sides. They had, as Athos had intended, followed his 'trail' without any difficulty, arriving moments after he had.

They spied Aramis immediately, his body crumpled in a strange manner. Upon focusing more, anger filled them at why. His arms were bound to the post behind him. They had obviously hurt him in some way, as evidenced by the blood on the ground around him, and when he had lost consciousness, his body was unable to fall to the ground, his arms kept around the post above him. They needed to get to him as quickly as possible, but so far, there was no way for that to happen.

They could hear Athos and Renard's exchanges, and wondered themselves what trickery the Baron was up to.

The man did not have the best reputation in the area, and even amongst the glittering nobility surrounding the Court, whispers were heard. Hard drinking. Couldn't keep his hands off the female servants and the women in the nearby village. Uncontrollable temper. Conceit. Pride.

The man was not to be trusted. His word meant nothing.

Even though Porthos itched to storm on in with guns blazing after he had seen the condition Aramis was in, they other knew it would have been foolhardy. It would have risked the life of the brother they loved so much, and so they bided their time until Athos made the first move.

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Aramis' return to consciousness was accompanied by vicious lightning bolts of agony running up his body. He had no strength and barely any awareness other than the pain. In the crumpled position he was presently in, his arms had been forced upward as they were bound around the post.

As he lay there, he gradually began to hear voices. As they became more clear, he was startled to realize that one of them sounded like Athos calling Renard's name.

No, he silently screamed, you can't be here! They will kill you.

Not being able to adjust his position without increasing the pain, he was forced to remain as he was.

But then, he heard his name. His brother was calling out to him! He tried to respond, but his body didn't want to cooperate.

Again, Athos called out.

This time, Aramis exerted everything he had, and was able to lift his head slightly for a moment.

Renard's mocking voice sounded once again,and he heard Athos responding.

He wasn't cognizant enough yet to attend to what was being said, only who was speaking.

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Reining in the temper that was rarely allowed to be exhibited, Athos forced himself to respond in a calm manner, even though he vowed silently to run the pompous nobleman through if the opportunity arose.

"Please spell your unknown reasons out, Renard. If you do not require me to be here, what was the note for?"

Renard hadn't enjoyed himself so much in a very long time. He had Athos right where he wanted him, imagining the former noble squirming inside at their conversation. He didn't care if he dragged it out for a while. Let the man who had given away his birthright wait to hear what would be happening next.

Ignoring his question, Renard said, "Tell me, Athos, how does it feel to be inferior to me, and to the countless noblemen you encounter during your guard duties? How does it feel to be treated as if you don't exist? Does it bring back memories of your father bringing you to Court when you had a right to be there?"

Athos, who was keeping a firm hold on his temper, waited a moment, realizing the man was deliberately degrading him to draw out the suspense he had created.

Waiting for a moment to reply, he finally responded, "I do not miss the preening, the gossip, the endless competition for the King's attention and favor. It was a very large part of why I enjoyed finally giving it up in the first place," watching the shock and disbelief on the Baron's face. These same reasons he had listed for giving his title up were exactly what Renard craved.

"You seriously don't like not having more than enough gold to buy anything you might feel like having? I would imagine a Musketeer's salary barely covers the clothes on your back and a drink or two -well, with you, a few more, I've heard," Renard laughed at his own joke.

"Actually, I never needed-emphasizing the word needed-that much gold," Athos calmly responded, inwardly raging at the endless delays the Baron was throwing in to delay the inevitable. And just to throw a glitch into Renard's thinking, he added, "and what, may I add, makes you believe I have none of the gold now?"

That did indeed throw a question into Renard's mind. He thought he had thoroughly dug into all of Athos' present circumstances. Had his men really failed to dig up that information?

But after thinking for a moment about it, Renard realized it made no difference anyway to his plans. No matter what he knew or didn't know about the man, he still guilty of killing of killing his heir. His plan would give him his needed revenge at last.

"Regarding what we have talked about, none of it takes away the fact that you took from me my son, my heir."

"You instigated the attacks on Pinon. You led them. We defended the village and people, who had done nothing wrong and did not deserve the violence you brought upon them. Your son and I fought fairly, but he unfortunately lost. The only person who should feel guilt over the death of your son is yourself, Renard."

Athos had known that his words would probably not make the man see reason, but they had needed to be said. He could see the man's face reddening with rage as he spoke. He could only hope that the man's temper would be directed at him, and not Aramis, who was a completely innocent victim of the deranged Baron's wrath.

Renard stalked closer to Athos, glaring at him as he came. "You may no longer have any family. You have no sons to love. But by your own words, you care deeply for this man here," gesturing in the general direction of Aramis. When we are through here, you will understand exactly how I feel, the grief which is constantly in my heart."

He paused, then said, "Tell me, Athos. Do you love your friend as you would a brother?"

Athos looked Renard directly in the eye, and said, "I love him as much as the brother who shared my blood.""Would you grieve if he were dead?"

_**Sorry this is a little shorter. Busy week. Thank you all for reading! As always, please let me know what you think. I treasure every review, and you have no idea how much it encourages me in my writing.**_


	13. Chapter 13

Athos utterly froze when he heard Renard's words. Suddenly, he realized he had been completely wrong about the Baron's plans.

The man's intentions were to visit upon him the pain of a loved one's death, to pay him back for his son's death. But there was a glaring difference.

Renard's son had participated fully in the Pinon attack. He hadn't been kidnapped, helpless, and had pain inflicted upon him. He had died while fighting with a sword in his hand.

But that wouldn't make a whit of difference to the nobleman standing before him now. And at the moment, he could think of no way to prevent the man's insane and evil plans from being carried out.

The small dagger he always kept hidden in his boot would be utterly useless against the number of armed men the Barron had at his disposal. It went against the grain for him, but he needed to stall for a while until Porthos and d'Artagnan arrived, if he had any hope of turning things around.

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His brothers had heard every word of the exchange.

"We need to get down there now,"Porthos growled. "He's going to kill Aramis, and make Athos suffer watching. He'll probably kill him too afterwards. The man is insane!"

D'Artagnan grabbed Porthos' arm when he started to get up.

"Porthos! You can't go down there. They have guns trained on Aramis and Athos. They'll be dead before we could even get to them. You know this!"

"Yeah," Porthos reluctantly responded, sliding slowly back down to the ground. "But we can't just do nothing."

"Did I say we would?" d'Artagnan retorted. "We need a plan before….,"stopping in mid-sentence at what both he and Porthos could see down in the courtyard.

While several men kept their pistols aimed at Aramis and Athos, the rest had gone around the back of the manor several minutes before. They reappeared now, dragging a wooden structure they had retrieved.

Eyes went wide with shock and fear for their helpless brothers as they recognized what it was.

A scaffold! Renard intended to hang Aramis while Athos watched.

They had never felt such a sense of helplessness in their lives. They watched as two of the men cut Aramis down and began dragging him towards the wooden structure.

They couldn't tell if he was conscious or not. He wasn't moving. They were sick to their stomachs. Aramis couldn't even see where they were dragging him. He wouldn't know until a moose was wrapped around his neck.

"We have to do something now!" Porthos said, his face, his body tense with having to hold himself back.

"Do you still have any of those little hand bombs we used a couple of weeks ago in your saddlebag?" d'Artagnan asked, his eyes never leaving the scene below.

Porthos' head slowly turned, his face almost frantic now. "What?!" Then stopping as he realized what d'Artagnan was suggesting.

"They would have to be thrown accurately," he said slowly as he thought.

"It has to be you to throw it, Porthos," d'Artagnan told him. "We're only going to get one chance, and you have the strength to throw further than I do."

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Athos' eyes widened in horror and shock as the men Renard had sent around the side of his home came back dragging a tall wooden structure, recognizing what it was.

"You cannot do this!" he said furiously to Renard.

"I can and I will," the Baron retorted, taking in every nuance of the Musketeer's facial expressions. "He won't even know what's happening until he feels the rope around his neck. Can't see a thing-poor man," the man actually throwing humor and sarcasm into the tense situation.

Athos was now digging his nails into the skin of the clenched fist at his side to keep from attacking the man. He knew it would be just the added touch the insane Baron would be looking for. He knew also that the noblemen's men would be watching for just such a reaction, and probably had instructions to shoot his brother instead.

Athos' heart plummeted as he saw the men begin dragging an inert Aramis towards the scaffolding.

'At least he cannot see what is coming,' Athos thought helplessly. 'He may be unconscious and not be aware through it all.' His stomach was clenching in unending knots from the prospect.

Where were d'Artagnan and Porthos, he wondered despairingly.

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Aramis came back to consciousness, feeling himself moving. He felt himself being dragged, his body thumping against the ground. The movements intensified the pain he already had, as his ravaged back came into contact with the hard dirt surface of the courtyard.

'What is happening?' he dazedly wondered. 'Where are we going?'

After what seemed like forever, but in reality was probably only a few moments, he felt himself being pulled up steps. This confused him even more. There hadn't been anything other than the post he had been tied to before, as he had taken quick glances around in the time he had been there. He didn't dare open his eyes to look, keeping up the pretense of not being able to see.

Had they dragged him quite a ways while he had not been conscious, or had he awakened from the movements to his body?

When they finally stopped, he thought they might lay him down. He longed to be able to rest. But that wasn't to be, as he soon found out.

He was lifted upright, held in place. Then, he felt something being pulled over his head.

Sheer panic seized him when he recognized the texture. It was a rope!

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Renard's demeanor was almost triumphant as he came to a halt in front of Athos.

"From this day forward, you will never be the same man again, Athos. You will carry with you the same loss, the same heartbreak. The world around you will be a little darker. Your memories will be filled with what you will see momentarily."

Knowing that it didn't matter what he said now, Athos' scathing reply came. "You are insane, Baron. This will not bring your son back. If he were here and had an ounce of human compassion, he would look upon you with contempt, father or not. Know this now. I will make it my life's work henceforward to hunt you down, and kill you like the animal you have become," every word spoken succinctly, slowly, and with promise.

Renard didn't say a word, but his expression showed exactly how angry he was. Turning and striding towards his men, he shouted, "Let's get this show started," glancing back at Athos as he did so.

His men had barely taken more than a couple of steps towards the scaffolding when pandemonium erupted.

The bomb Porthos had heaved down in their midst went off with deadly accuracy, bodies flying everywhere. Two pistols sounded at the same time, taking out the two men on the scaffold with Aramis. Renard and the men not affected pulled their guns and swords, swinging their heads wildly around, trying to figure out where it had come from.

Athos, knowing exactly who had done it, used the opportunity to run the few steps to the scaffold and up the steps. Aramis was barely able to stand, his body shaking with the effort he had to make to prevent hanging himself by falling.

Athos, pulling the small dagger, made short work of slicing through the noose and the rope binding his brother's hands.

Aramis began to collapse as soon as the pressure on his neck ceased. Athos eased him down, saying softly, "I am here, Aramis. Stay down. I will be back for you. That is a promise," laying a hand gently against the sides of his brother's face, affection rarely shown to anyone but his brothers.

As he went to stand up, he was finally able to see the source of all the blood that had pooled around his brother when he had been tied to the post. His back was horribly slashed and torn, the obvious result of a savage flogging.

Anger such as he had never known filled the swordsman. Standing and turning to descend the scaffold steps, his eyes sought out Renard with one purpose. Death.

Renard saw Athos before the swordsman spied him. Drawing his pistol, he sighted along it, hate filling him.

Aramis, lying on the scaffold, tried to keep himself conscious. Now that he saw that there was no reason to hide it, his eyes roved the courtyard, seeing all the fighting. He saw Porthos and d'Artagnan join the fight, their swords drawn.

Then, he saw Athos heading swiftly for Renard. But he also saw Renard aiming his gun at his brother, whose only weapon was a sword. The Baron would kill Athos!

Casting a look around him, he found one of the dead men's pistols. Shakily lifting it, he tried to aim, having trouble as his vision was blurring now.

A moment later, two shots almost simultaneously rang out in the courtyard.


	14. Chapter 14

_**I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to get published. Fanfiction seemed to have lost my email/password, and it took most of the week before it was back. Enjoy the new chapter and thanks so much for reading!**_

Lying prone on the scaffold's platform, dead men sprawled on either side of him, and a noose lying at his feet, Aramis sighted down the gun barrel. 'I can't take the time to wait for the perfect shot', he thought. Having no time to wait for his vision of his target to improve, he fired. The results were immediately apparent. Renard, in the act of firing his pistol, stumbled backward, his face a picture of shock as he began to crumble to the ground, his hands grabbing at his chest.

Aramis saw Athos reach the dying Baron's side, and he saw something else-the blood now staining his brother's shirtsleeve. But he had the strength to do no more, dropping the spent pistol and dropping his head back against the wooden planks he lay on.

'Athos is alive', he thought with profound relief. His eyelids beginning to close despite his efforts to prevent them, moments later he was unconscious.

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Athos, now that his brother was saved from the noose, had one thing on his mind. Renard. He moved as rapidly as he could through the fighting towards the Baron.

He was almost there, when Renard pulled a pistol and aimed it straight at him. Athos was a perfect target, and froze at the threat before him. He realized there was no way the crazed nobleman could miss at such a short distance, and Athos knew how good a shot Renard had always been.

The Baron's lips were now drawn back in a distorted parody of a grin. 'Athos is mine,' he thought. 'He's a dead man'.

He pulled the trigger, but another shot rang out at almost exactly the same time. Athos was slightly distracted when he felt a burning sensation on his upper arm, grabbing it with his left hand. But he had also heard the second shot, and now watched as his nemesis fell to the ground and lay still.

Following the path the second bullet had to have taken, Athos realized it had to have come from the scaffold platform. As impossible as it seemed, he saw the pistol drop from his brother's hand, and his head fall. Aramis!

The realization prompted his feet to take off, needing to reach his brother, who now lay unmoving.

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When the gunshots went off, everyone seemed to come to a standstill. Renard's men looked to their leader, only to find him collapsing to the ground, hands over his chest, which was rapidly soaking the white shirt he was wearing a bright red.

Porthos and d'Artagnan, looking to Athos and seeing him grab his arm and grimace, dropped their hands from the men they had been fighting and moved rapidly towards him.

Athos, for his part, had swung his head sharply around towards the top of the scaffolding in time to see Aramis head slowly drop to the floor of the scaffolding, where he lay still. He began to run.

Porthos and d'Artagnan, seeing the movement of Athos' head, followed close behind the swordsman.

As they were heading for the scaffold, thundering hooves were heard approaching them. A moment later, Musketeers came flooding into the compound, Treville at their head, pistols and swords drawn at the sounds of fighting. They came to a dead halt at the edge of the courtyard, clouds of dust rising from their horses' hooves.

Athos called out without halting, sweeping a hand towards Renard's ruffians as he and his brothers continued to run for the scaffold, "They are all the men the Baron hired to kidnap and torture Aramis.

The mounted Musketeers, anger on their faces now at learning the men in the compound had hurt a Musketeer, and one who was much loved and respected, proceeded to encircle and trap the men, before subduing the lot of them.

Athos and his brothers had finally ascended the ladder to the platform of the scaffolding, finding Aramis sprawled across it, a still smoking pistol inches from his left hand. Eyes closed, his body lay still under their gaze.

Looking at each other with perplexed expressions, they knelt beside him with d'Artagnan saying, "Did he shoot Renard? How?" which was what the others were also thinking.

They knew Aramis and Porthos sometimes had a game they played, where Aramis would shoot a bottle in the air while blindfolded, but not a moving man in the midst of a melee of fighting. But the gun told a different story.

Athos laid a gentle hand against Aramis' neck, reassured by the light beat of a pulse beneath his questing fingers. Looking up, he nodded to his brothers.

Knowing Treville had the situation well in hand, Athos said to them, "Let us carry him inside the house and care for him there." Pausing, he then continued, "Renard had him flogged, and left him passed out with his arms contorted above his head. Let us hope the welts are not deep, and have not become infected," Porthos and d'Artagnan's faces showing their horror at what Aramis had suffered through.

Porthos reached down and lifted his brother up into his arms, cradling him against his massive chest. They then headed for the house.

Entering the first bedchamber they found, Porthos laid Aramis down carefully on his stomach on the four-poster, revealing to them all just how bad the whipping had been. It seemed like his entire back was covered with the stripes. Blood had congealed and dried, both on the lash marks and on the skin of them were quite deep, the result of Renard's bloodthirsty act. And a couple of them already indicated borderline infection had set in. Athos' spoken hope that the welts would not be deep was unfulfilled.

Once they had carefully washed away the dirt caked on them, they wrapped cloths torn from the bed's sheets around his torso. He needed a physician badly, but where could they find one here in the countryside? The only luck they had was that Aramis had stayed out while they cleaned his back, for which they were very grateful.

But it looked like their luck was about to run out, as they heard an agonized groan, and their brother

moved his head slightly.

"Aramis, mon ami, are you with us?" Porthos asked softly, as he continued to hold the hand he had grasped as Athos and d'Artagnan continued their work on their brother's back.

Receiving no answer they waited, reluctant to continue to take care of his back as he awakened.

Finally, his eyes opened. They moved from one of his brother's faces to the next, and a slight smile graced his face at the knowledge that all three of his brothers were there.

They sat there stunned. He could see! With all the turmoil of the past hour or two, they hadn't had the time to process the fact of his having been the one to take down Renard. At the backs of their minds was still his remarkable ability to hit bottles blindfolded, but at the same time scepticism that even he could have made the shot that stopped the Baron.

"Wait! You can see? But when? How?" d'Artagnan began, only for Athos to reach over and touch his shoulder, shaking his head in warning.

He could see that Aramis was overwhelmed with pain, exhaustion and just a little confusion. The questions could come later. 'First,' he thought grimly, 'we need to see about getting him well.

"Renard nearly tore him to pieces. I would like to revive the man and kill him all…' stopping himself from going down that road.

"W..where are we?" Aramis asked, in a voice they could barely hear.

"We, my friend, are in Renard's…former home," Porthos replied.

"A..are R..Renard's men…"

"Dead or locked up in the cellar, mon ami," Porthos again responded.

His next question confused them. "H..how d..did you k..know to c..come?" looking beyond them.

Three heads whipped around, none of them having heard Treville come in.

The captain could see that his marksman was barely holding on to consciousness, and said, "I will tell you, Aramis, but at another time. Sleep. You need your rest now."

As Aramis' eyes began to droop, Athos softly said, "We have been profoundly blessed this day, Aramis," unusually for him using the term 'blessed'. "We have got our brother back, our enemy has been removed, and you have finally got your vision restored to you."

All three of them were smiling from ear to ear by now.

"I knew it couldn't be permanent," Porthos declared.

Aramis' eyes closed briefly, before flying back open as he sought out Athos' face again. "Y..you were shot. A..are you.."

"Yes, Aramis, I am fine," Athos told him, reassuring his brother, who didn't need to think about anything else right now other than getting better.

After Athos' words, Aramis' eyes wearily closed once more.

Not more than a few seconds after Aramis' eyes closed, Athos stumbled rounding the corner of the bed and, without a word, crumpled bonelessly to the ground.

Everyone's attention had been focused so intensely on Aramis that no one had noticed that his upper arm had begun to bleed again.

Treville took charge, directing them to lay him down beside Aramis on the bed. As soon as they had done so, he unbuttoned his doublet and pulled aside his shirt exposing a long bloody groove on his arm just above the shoulder, still sluggishly bleeding.

They cleaned and wrapped it with clean cloths.

Portho said, "I don't think it's too bad. He just might be a mite weak from losing blood though."

Treville said quietly to them, "I sent several of the men out to the nearby villages to find a physician. Let us hope they are successful. We have two patients waiting for him now."

The others nodded, fully aware of the need for success, the memory of the state of Aramis' back too fresh in their minds as they settled in around him as he restlessly slept. And now, Athos needed tending, as well.


	15. Chapter 15

One of Treville's men found a physician a few miles away, and brought him back to Renard's manor. The diminutive physician with a balding head and eyes that took in everything around him introduced himself as Monsieur Chenery.

Seeing the two men lying so still on the bed, the physician quickly divested himself of his jacket and laid his bag at the bottom of the best.

Starting first with Aramis, he gently removed the bloody remains of his shirt with Porthos' help, his face reflecting his shock at the sight of the unconscious marksman's back.

Turning to the man he had immediately recognized as the leader, he asked, "Who did this…this…insane act? What could he possibly have done to merit what has been done to him?"

Treville, touched at the care and concern emanating from the doctor, replied, "He had done nothing whatsoever. Renard…."

Chenery gasped. "The Baron did this?! I know he was a harsh man, and not well-liked in the area. But that even he could practice this cruelty on an innocent man. I will never understand the workings of some men's minds," before turning back to his patient.

He had a gentle touch throughout his work on Aramis' back. He complimented them on how well they had cleaned the area. As he worked, he told them what salves and herbs he had used to try to curtail the infection in several of the lash marks, and how much and how often to replace them. Then, he wrapped his torso with clean clothes. When he was finished, he laid his hand softly on Aramis' shoulder, his lips moving silently, obviously saying a prayer over him.

Turning to the others, he told them, "It is not good. The infection is in more than one of the wounds. I am hoping what I've used will rein in the infection. But we will have to wait and see. Try to get some liquids into him, keep him warm, and let him know you are near, whether he is conscious or not. He may be disoriented, and might think he is still in the hands of his captors. Touch. Soft words. Gentleness. Use them well."

With a heavy sigh, he moved over to the other side of the bed to where Athos lay.

Turning to Treville once more, he asked, "Who shot him? Was it…"

Treville was already nodding in answer. The good doctor just shook his head sadly.

After examining the wound, he heaved a sigh of relief, telling them it had not penetrated, but had grazed the skin. But it had bled quite a bit, he continued, which was probably what had caused Athos to pass out. Using other salves, he then wrapped Athos' wound as well.

"He should be awakening soon," he reassured them, finally giving them some good news.

"I will be back in the morning," not asking them as a question of them needing him to come, but a statement of fact. They were very impressed passion with the country doctor's knowledge, care and compassion.

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True to the prognosis of the doctor, Athos woke up less than an hour later, trying to get up as soon as he did, wanting to check on Aramis.

"Athos," Treville said, "Stay put. You do know that you passed out because you let your wound bleed-the wound you neglected to tell anyone about?" Treville said sternly.

"The doctor came, Athos," d'Artagnan told his brother, knowing he was worried about Aramis. "He examined Aramis, using some salves on his back to try to stem the infection, if possible."

Athos' eyes showed his worry at these words. Turning to Aramis, he surprisingly followed Treville's order and laid back down, with one hand gently clasping Aramis' shoulder. A few moments later, he was asleep again.

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In the middle of the night, Aramis began to become restless as a raging fever gripped him.

"Athos, don't come!" he called out. "He will kill you!" Porthos and d'Artagnan held him still as gently as they could, all the while speaking soothing words to calm him.

"Please don't come. Don't give yourself for me," he insisted, still trying to fight against hands that he saw as the men holding him captive. "Renard is a crazed man. He will kill…", his exhausted, pain-riddled body finally taking him back into the darkness.

Silence reigned for a few moments, before Porthos said, "This fever is making him hard to keep down. It's given him more strength. It's taking two of us to do it," the worry in his voice reflecting in all of their faces."

"Good thing the doctor is coming back in the morning," d'Artagnan responded. "He can't keep this up. He will tear apart all the good doctor's work."

Porthos just nodded, wanting so much to just gather his brother to his chest and hold him close, but he didn't dare disturb his injuries.

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Early in the morning, Aramis became quiet and still. They waited, hoping against hope that he was coming out of the infection, although they knew it was very unlikely.

Two very tired eyelids began to crack open.

"Aramis? You with us?" Porthos asked tentatively.

The eyelids opened wider, as Aramis groggily looked up at them.

"You are!" Porthos' voice sounded joyfully.

"Hurts," Aramis groaned, something he never said when injured, which just ratcheted up his brothers' worries.

"It will get better," Porthos promised.

"Athos?" the Marksman asked. His body was turned on its side in deference to the state of his back, so that he couldn't see his brother behind him on the bed.

The doctor took care of him, too," d'Artagnan told him.

D'Artagnan, while talking, had laid a hand on Aramis' forehead, and silently now looked up shaking his head.

He had no sooner done so than Aramis began to exhibit all the signs of needing to empty his stomach. Porthos hurriedly got a pail in position, but since they had no idea when Aramis might have eaten last, nothing but dry heaves resulted, leaving him even more exhausted.

His eyes once again closed, as the infection began to rage once more.

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos, seeing his own facial expression reflected there. Dashed hope and renewed fear for their brother's life. Was he strong enough in his current condition to survive? And how could they give him anything to drink when his body was trying to empty with nothing in it?

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The next time Athos woke up, he persisted when they tried to convince him to rest.

"I am fine," he said, and pushed himself to the edge of the bed and onto his feet without any assistance. Once he was on his feet, however, he swayed and grabbed the bedlpost. Waving away their attempts to take his arms and steady him, he took a deep breath and began walking, slowly, around to Aramis' side, where he promptly sat down in the wooden chair beside it, and took Aramis' limp hand.

"Speaking to his unconscious brother in a low voice, he said, "I am so sorry, mon ami. You are going through this because of me. He used you and I …" his voice faltered as he came to a halt, emotions of guilt wracking him.

"Athos, Aramis doesn't blame you," Porthos said. "The first thing he wanted when he came to for a minute earlier was to know how you were."

But Athos wasn't accepting his words. He had stood and watched, unable to stop anything, as his already injured brother was dragged up the scaffolding and had a noose tied around his neck. He had never felt that helpless in his life.

"I was unable to do anything. And I owe you my life. Even injured, you saved it with that shot, brother."

Treville came to check on Aramis not long after Aramis had passed out again.

He introduced the man, saying, "He is the reason we found you," getting all of them's attention right away.

Seeing their unspoken question, he said, "This is Marc. He is the son of one of Renard's friends. When his father died young, he had left the Baron a letter requesting the Baron to make his son his ward. Instead,the Baron considered Marc to have been foisted upon him, and ordered his estate manager to work him hard like any of his other men, and punish him if he was lax at carrying out anything assigned to him to do.

The manager was a brute, and was also the leader of the rowdy bunch Renard employed to wreak havoc in this area. Marc had been gently raised, and was unused to seeing the brutality exhibited by Renard and his friends. But he was trapped. The Baron had legal rights to him.

He took the opportunity, when the Baron asked for a volunteer to run an errand for him, to instead come into Paris, seeking out our garrison from people on the street. He helped to save all of you by his actions."

The young man, who was naturally a little shy, hung his head at the compliment. But Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan were quick to come and deeply thank him for his actions. Porthos went even further, wrapping Marc in a bear hug in his gratitude.

"One other thing that Marc here didn't know, and that I just found out. He was his father's sole heir to his estate. Renard has been digging into it's assets for years, but Louis will be petitioned to redress the loss. You are a very wealthy young man, Marc!"

Marc was stunned and speechless as the Musketeers now congratulated him on his good fortune!

Marc now turned to Treville, asking permission to see Aramis. Treville nodded, and the young man smiled and turned towards the bed.  
Several things happened in quick succession then.

Porthos turned to back to the bed, feeling guilty for their all having left Aramis' side for a few moments.

Dr. Chevery came bustling through the open door, coming back as promised to check on his patient.

But from the bed came a loud scream, causing fear in the hearts of all of them.


	16. Chapter 16

All of his brothers rushed to Aramis' bedside when they heard him scream, attempting to keep him from further injuring himself with his wild, uncoordinated movements. But the fever seemed to have given him a strength he shouldn't have had in his weakened condition, and his struggles intensified.

D'Artagnan, noticing something that got his complete attention, said, "His movements aren't against us holding him down. His body is arching as if…," not knowing exactly how to had been so his observation. "He seems to be arching his body desperately away from something-something he fears," ending by looking questioningly at his brothers.

Athos shook his head, his sadness becoming even more pronounced as he said softly, his voice wracked with guilt, "I believe he is … reliving the flogging he was forced to undergo," his words ending almost on a whisper.

They continued to try to keep him still. Aramis was still struggling, but now rapidly failing in the burst of energy that had fueled his movements earlier. Porthos, seeing his brother beginning to fade, stroked his hair, trying to give him whatever comfort he could.

A few moments later, he was once more out.

Dr. Chevery, having observed everything that had happened, shook his head slowly, saying, "The poor man." Looking at d'Artagnan and then Athos, he continued, "I believe you could very well be right."

All three of Aramis' brothers sat with heads hung down, wondering how much more Aramis could take, but the physician's next words had their heads up and fixed on Chevery's face as he continued, "However, we may have just seen the climax of his fever. It doesn't always happen, but sometimes a patient hits a high point, then begins to recover. Having observed what just happened, I believe he may have passed the worst stage. If I am right, he will gradually begin to recover now."

Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan couldn't have heard sweeter words than these. Their faces split into wide grins, joy filling all their hearts.

"Now, I may be completely wrong, but he may be waking up within a few hours. We will know for sure then," assuring them that "I will be going nowhere until he awakens."

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Sure enough, a few hours had passed and Aramis began to show signs of waking up. Athos, who had been the one in the rotation who had 'bedside' duty, alerted everyone quietly, and they ranged themselves around the bed expectantly.

It seemed to take forever, at least to his anxious brothers, but finally his eyelids began to flutter, then they cracked open a sliver.

"Aramis, you with us?" Porthos asked, barely able to contain his emotions.

With those words, Aramis' eyes opened further, his gaze looking up at Porthos, before slowly moving on to Athos, then d'Artagnan. Confusion appeared, though, when he saw Chevery's countenance.

Seeing this, Athos said softly, "Aramis, this is Monsieur Chevery, the good physician who has saved your life," bestowing upon the doctor one of his rare radiant smiles.

Aramis returned his gaze to the physician, looking intensely at him for a moment before saying, "Th…than...", but they could hear the hoarseness in his voice as he couldn't continue. Aramis, not alert enough yet to pick up on that fact, tried again.

Athos spoke softly to him, "You cannot speak because you are too dry from lack of liquids, Aramis. Would you like to try some water?

Seeing him give a slight nod, Porthos grabbed the water jug from the table and poured out a cupful. Handing it to Athos, he gently got his hand under Aramis' head and neck, and lifted him enough to enable him to drink.

Athos pulled the cup away after a few sips, leaving Aramis visibly frustrated.

"Aramis, you are our medic. What do you always tell your patients when they drink water after being dehydrated?" one eyebrow quirked up as he awaited his brother's response.

Aramis started to lay back, defeated by his own well-known advice. But the instant his back touched the bed, his face scrunched up in pain. Porthos and d'Artagnan eased him back over onto his side. With his medical experience, Aramis knew he was going to be painfully uncomfortable for some time to come.

Athos turned to Dr. Chevery, a question in his hopeful eyes.

"Yes, you will now recover," the doctor replied, turning to give his answer to his patient. "The infections are receding almost as quickly as they came on now. You should recover completely, Aramis. You will probably have several scars on your back, as some of the lash strokes were very deep. But overall, you may give thanks to our Creator for giving you back your life." Having seen the crucifix around his patient's neck, he knew the young man was devout, and would take his advice to heart.

But as Aramis and his brothers showed their elation at hearing he would fully recover on their faces, Chevery continued. "But you will need to follow my instructions to the letter, young man.

"Extensive bed rest." Here, they all saw Aramis' expression become one of hopeless resignation, expecting it, as they knew well from past experience just how much he detested forced inactivity as he began to get his strength back.

"No solid food except for bread until I decide otherwise." Aramis, his mind full of unappetizing porridge, clear soups with no meat or vegetables to make them palatable, everything mushy. His face fell further. His brothers were having a very difficult time trying not to laugh out loud at his responses.

Chevery was noticing all the silent responses to his instructions, telling him just exactly how bad a patient usually was. He was very much enjoying these young men, their obvious love for one another, and just how well each brother knew everything about the others.

He couldn't resist entering into the spirit of the moment.

"You, young man, will also do everything your brothers tell you to do without question. You will allow them to change your dressings, give you my medicines," here he paused for effect, inwardly having fun with the moment, "no matter how badly they might taste taste or smell."

"No staying up late at night. No tavern visits. No ladies visiting." He recognized the man's good looks, and knew he had to have lady friends who would love to help to take care of him when they found out what had happened.

By this time, his brothers realized the good doctor was laying it on thick. But they intended to use his instructions to rein in their medic brother if he became rebellious.

Aramis, for his part, had sunk down further into the mattress, visions of a month of dread filling his mind with horror.

Dr. Chevery took his leave soon afterwards, all four Musketeers thanking him profusely, full of gratitude to have had such a dedicated, kind physician found out in the countryside. Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had walked him to the door, Chevery winking with a smile as he left, and now turned back into the room to find their exhausted brother fast asleep again.

Maybe when Aramis had recovered fully, Treville could be persuaded to allow him to make the journey to visit his aunt that he had been so savagely waylaid from, Athos thought. They could expect a a typically increasing difficult patient as he recuperated, though, he continued with a little smile.

All of their hearts were full of a profound joy that the brother they had been so afraid of losing had been saved.

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_**Thanks so much for reading, favoriting, reviewing my fanfic! I appreciate every single one of you! **_


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